Roughspun
by abitbasic
Summary: Exiled nobility from Lys, Alyra and Vaenor Taennaris, moved with their family to the North. Reduced to smallfolk when they were young children, they remember little of their heritage. When their home is reduced to rubble, the siblings are split. Will war bring them back together? What will Alyra and Vaeron amount to? [ alternate story, non canon outcomes ]
1. Alyra I

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

_Alyra_

Once, she could remember the scent of incense and perfume, the lilt of harp, the soft singing of a muse, and sweet burgeoning fruit on her lips. She had been young and the memories were exotic, colorful, and past. They had fled under the cover of night and sailed far away, as far away as they could get. No longer did their coin purchase amenities or luxuries. Instead, they had to work, put a hoe to the earth and thank God that they had escaped with their lives and their family. She began to forget, clinging to the last memories of the estate her parents once owned, they legacy gone like smoke over water. They were poor now, but they were alive.

"_Hide!" _her mother cried, taking both Alyra and Vaeron into the bedroom. She lifted the floorboards and ushered the children into the small pantry that was filled with sacks of grain. She slammed it shut and with a soft scraping noise, a carpet was pulled over where they hid. Each footstep thundered above them, causing dirt and dust to seep through the floorboards.

"We don't have anything of value," her father's voice sounded strained, still tinged by the Lyseni accent he'd tried so hard to overcome.

Glass crashed and object clattered loudly to the floor. Alyra clung to her brother Vaeron, her fingers growing sore as they quaked beneath the floorboards. Nothing like this had happened to them before. Not since they had left Lys some three years ago. She wanted to cry, bury her face into her mother's shoulder, but it was too dangerous. Instead, Alyra turned to Vaeron and pushed her face into his collar, sniffling quietly as she tried to control herself. They already had to deal with the people in the village. It'd taken more than a year for them to not give their family strange stares. The northerners of Westeros were suspicious of outsiders, especially the fair haired and violet eyed Lysene.

"You're from Lys aren't you? Bought this farm with quite a bit of land a few years ago… Where's the rest of your hoard?" this voice was unfamiliar, but harsh and raucous.

"We spent what money we had to purchase land. If you want money I have some silver stags, but-" her father was scrambling, trying to find the coin purse he kept stashed in the nightstand by his bed.

"I'm not looking for a few fucking silvers. I know you have gold," the man barked.

"I don't. What money we had went into the farm," their father protested weakly.

"What fucking good are you?" his words were followed by their mother's shrill scream and a thump.

Alyra's blood ran cold as she and Vaeron froze, uncertain of what was conspiring above them. At eight and thirteen, Vaeron was the only one who had even an inkling of what had just happened.

"Now where is it? Or do I have to kill you too?" he grunted.

"We don't have anything, please… Jaeherys…" mother sounded as if she were weeping.

"Fuck," the man grumbled. "I'll make what use I can out of you then. Get over here."

And Alyra and Vaeron sat there, huddled together as their mother was brutalized, raped, and consequently murdered. They waited hours, hours after the man's footsteps had receded. Vaeron had popped the pantry door open and peered into the darkness. Alyra was about to follow him when he shook his head. "Stay there," he muttered, scurrying into the house to light a candle. She didn't want to wait, she wanted to see what was happening, but obediently remained.

It felt like ages until Vaeron returned, a small chest tucked under his arm. "He didn't find it," her brother muttered, handing it to Alyra. The chest held the last possession their family had to their name. Alyra and Vaeron had no idea what was in it, for their mother had always worn the necklace that would unlock it. Her words had been 'When the time is right, we will unlock it. Not before or else God will be upset with us.' Vaeron continued the idea and stashed it in the pantry where it would be safe.

Alyra didn't see the bodies of her parents. Vaeron had buried them out by the weirwood, the crying face weeping tears of bloody sap. She had always found a strange solace in the weirwood on their farm, even if her family did not follow the Old Gods. The northerners prayed to them and from time to time, Alyra did in secret, knowing that Vaeron would not approve. They were to belong to the Red God, R'hllor, but he had not saved her parents and as long as she prayed to the heart tree, life did not seem to bad. At least, not until the tax collectors came. They were both merely children and it was difficult to continue the amount of work that four people had once done.

Alyra was eleven when Vaeron went to Karhold to get a job as a soldier. The money he earned was almost always paid back to the Karstarks, but it kept them afloat. But with Alyra the only one managing the farm, she had to cut down the size that she tended and resort to hunting as she sold all their grain for coin. It was difficult work, but she was able to make her own clothes and blankets from the furs and leathers. She got so good at it, that she began sewing items for locals in the village that would commission her. The butcher, Edmon, was fond of the fur hemmed cloaks she crafted and fancied himself one. The baker's wife wanted a dress of rabbit fur for the festival coming up in a fortnight.

Between her trapping and bow skills, Alyra brought home enough game to fill her belly and paired it with carrots and beets that she grew. Often, she'd trade for potatoes and garlic or onions. The leery attitude of the villagers fled when their parents had been killed and Alyra and Vaeron were forced to support themselves. They sold sections of the farm until only a few acres remained. Often, her brother wasn't home, leaving Alyra on her own, on a small farm bordered by the forest and governed by a heart tree. The village was about an hour's ride away and those that had bought her land only came to till it every other day.

That afternoon was rainy, pittering down on her head as she ushered the plow horse forward. She was an old, weathered thing that had seen better days. When they'd first bought her, five years ago, she had been in her prime, but with each moon gone, the horse looked even more pitiful. Alyra felt bad riding the mare into town, but it took too long to go it by foot and she often had to bring wares that required the wagon. Pinching her copper groats, she thought she'd be able to afford a horse by next year so she could put old Daisy into retirement.

Putting Daisy in the old, dilapidated barn, Alyra hung her cloak in the mudroom and kicked off her filthy boots. Bathtubs belonged to wealthy people and the most Alyra had was a basin she could fill with hot water before using a rag to clean herself. She never minded, infusing the water the marigold, lavender, and sage, all native plants in the long summer. There was a lot of work that needed to be done before the winter came. She'd need another horse, she'd need to cut down some trees for lumber, and she'd need to repair the house and barn. Stores for winter were a joke and she was contemplating giving up the farm completely just so that she could live outside of Karhold where there would be more need for hunters and tailors, seeing those were the only two skills she possessed.

After lighting the cookfire, Alyra trailed over to a bookcase, an uncommon item in a lowborn's house. The books were from Lys, which her father liked to fancy were from Old Valyria. Mother used to say that they'd named Alyra after Valyria, where their people were from originally. Given the pale silver hair and violet eyes all of her family had possessed, they certainly had the blood of Old Valyria, a trait that had been staunched out in Westeros after the Usurper took the throne. Behind closed doors, father would mutter about what an awful man King Robert Baratheon was and how he ordered the murders of Targaryen babies.

She had only just started a stew when there was a heavy thump against the front door. Alyra's head whipped up, her braid smacking against her back as she froze as if in the sights of an Other. She rarely barred the door, no one aside from her brother ever came to visit her. After a moment of silence, she wondered if she had just been imagining things and if a peel of thunder had startled her. Clearing her throat, she trailed into the main bedroom, lighting the single oil lamp that she owned.

Alyra set it down on the nightstand and waved the match out. Lightning illuminated the darkening room and a shadow fell across her back. _The night is dark and full of terrors, _the words smacked into her and when she turned, her heart stopped. A man was standing in the doorway, hulking, dripping wet, and not Vaeron. She scrambled back, her calves hitting the frame of the bed, sending her onto the hay mattress with a thump.

"I thought I killed all the fucking Lyseni here," the man growled, his face unfamiliar, but his voice causing Alyra to shudder. He took a menacing step forward, peeling off his wet coat to reveal a sword at his waist. The only weapon in the house aside from a rusted kitchen knife was her bow and she'd left it by the door with her boots.

"I-I have coin if you want it," Alyra's mouth was dry and the words rasped out with difficulty.

"Imagine what King Robert would pay if I said you were Daenerys Targaryen. Wouldn't even be able to tell the difference, I think," he took another step.

"Please don't kill me," Alyra whimpered, hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"I won't," he said, the light of the lamp revealing a pock marked face, deep rivets on his cheeks. "Not until I've had some fun with you. They say Lys is a place of pleasure, where the best pillow houses exist. So girl, perhaps I won't kill you if you can pleasure me."

Alyra knew the man would kill her either way, he just wanted to shame her further. Her memories slipped back to the earliest she owned from her childhood. The incense, the perfume, the marble steps and winking gemstones. She barely realized that he was now in front of her, death looming above her as the wickering of the lantern was magnified by the storm outside.

"Just kill me," Alyra decided, taking back the words she had just spoken.

"Changed your mind already? I think not," he shoved her against the bed, fingers tightening around her throat. His other massive hand tore her leather jerkin, exposing her chest. Alyra laid there, accepting her fate. What if she had left the farm sooner, would the next poor family have met the same fate? What had happened to those who owned the farm before them. "This is my favorite haunt," he told her, fingers scrabbling against her soft creamy skin. Alyra felt nothing, just a cold emptiness as she imagined what her mother had experienced just five years ago. "Before your family came here it was another family. I fucked the mother and her toddler. Made her husband watch. You know why I keep coming back? Because this house belonged to my father. The land remembers and it always has remembered me. Everytime I return, it welcomes me with a new victim."

He was shoved up her skirt and was unlacing his breeches. Her head lolled to the side, accepting the fate as she stared into the light of the lanturn. Why had he forsaken her? Was it because she prayed to the Old Gods too? Had R'hllor been displeased with her? _Fire. _Her lavender eyes widened at the sight of the lamp and as the man was above to take her, she grabbed it, with all the strength in her, shattered it over his head. The oil exploded and in a fury the existing fire took like wildfire. Even with his damp clothing, the fire clung to the oil and Alyra laid there as the oil fell over her face and chest, catching on her as well.

He began screaming, the scent of burning flesh jarring her from where she laid. He'd fallen to the ground, trying to put the fire out, but with the oil on his skin and clothes, it continued to eat at him. The man was not the only thing affected by the fire. The bed had caught and so had the floorboards. Alyra stood up and leapt over him, trundling across the room to grab clothes that hadn't been ruined. His cries became less human, eventually overwhelmed by the popping of the fire that had consumed the bedroom.

She ran out the front door, half of the house on fire, into the rain before she realized she had left the most precious thing inside. Throwing the clothes to the ground, she sprinted back in, darting under a beam that had fallen and was being eaten by fire. She felt the heat against her skin, singing her clothes and hair, but her determination pushed her. The entire pantry was writhing in flames, her fingers becoming raw as she heaved up the trapdoor with great effort. The ornate chest was hidden beneath a sack of grain, now burnt and soot. Beneath, the black chest glinted madly in the fire.

It took her a good time, but she made it back out of the house, realizing that the entirety of her home had been consumed by it. When she glanced down, her clothes and hair had been smote off her, but aside from where she had been trying to open the door and scraped her fingers, she remained unscathed. Standing naked in the rain, she picked up the bundle of clothes and her bow that she had left on the ground, trotting over to the barn. Only then did everything hit her, all that she had lost. Alyra sniffled and curled up on a bale of hay, clutching the obsidian chest tight to her.

She noticed a second horse, a horse that had likely belonged to the man that had intended on raping and killing her. He had gotten what he deserved. Apparently, he had done it many times before, preying on those who bought the land when the spoils were ripe. Staring up at the horse, she saw the white sunburst of the Karstarks. _No, it can't be. How could one of the Karstarks' men be this? _Vaeron was a Karstark man and he would never do anything so disgusting. What if there were more like him at Karhold?

After an hour, she put on the damp clothes and inspected the horse that she supposed was now hers. She picked through the saddlebags and found a heavy purse filled with silver dragons. She wondered how many people he had robbed and murdered to get all that money. Taking the knife on the saddle, she cut away the Karstark symbols and discarded them.

"Karter! Karter, where the fuck did ye go? Holy shit!"

_No… No, not another man, _she thought, beginning to shake like a leaf. She couldn't remain there. She opened the stall that held Daisy, hoping that the horse would prove to be a good distraction and maybe the horse would find someone who could take care of her for the rest of her days. Slapping Daisy's hindquarter, the old mare cried and bolted, startled out of the barn. Alyra mounted the unfamiliar horse and dug the heels of her boots into its flank. Where would she go? Anywhere but here.


	2. Vaeron I

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

_Vaeron_

He hated being away from home so long. At eighteen, Vaeron had spent nearly two years working for the Karstarks. He couldn't say that he preferred the work, keeping the peace, and protecting the coastline from attacks from pirates. Often he could remember the home they'd possessed in Lys. Alyra's memories were fragments, but his were strong. He recalled their home overlooking the ocean, the plethora of servants they'd had, and the silver tongued words of the other nobles. They had been jealous of their family and Lys was fought on poison and word rather than by the sword. Vaeron had come to prefer the weight of a sword in his hand. It reminded him duly of what they had lost in Lys and what they had lost in Westeros.

He ran it through his mind often haunted by the bodies of his parents strewn on the ground in their own blood as if they were nothing. _But we're not nothing. We're the Taennaris, descended with more purity from Old Valyria than any of those Lysene bastards. They were jealous that the Targaryens often picked from our family. _Vaeron ran the whetstone over his sword, the din of sharpening dull in his ears as he wondered how Alyra was faring on her own. He hated leaving his thirteen year old sister on the farm, but he had no choice, lest they wanted to lose the farm. _She can handle herself. She knows how to use a bow and she's a smart girl._

"Still sulking, Vaeron?" Edd Karstark loomed over him.

Vaeron leapt to his feet, bowing as deeply as he could manager to the very man that had seen promise in him.

"I'm not lord or king," Edd mused, waving Vaeron back up standing. "Thinking of your sister?"

"I always do, ser," Vaeron sighed, standing erect, facing the noble with slight resignation.

"Why don't you bring her to Karhold? She would be safer here than in that small town south of here," Edd suggested.

"She won't leave that farm," Vaeron sighed. His sister's fixation of the heart tree was disturbing, especially seeing that their family strictly followed the Lord of Light. Even so, he'd buried his parents beneath it, wondering that if he had prayed to these northern gods if they would still be alive. _So much strife and to what end? What did we do? _Their silvery hair of starlight and pale lavender eyes made them a target for nothing more than their heritage. It seemed the northerners had not forgotten the exchange with the Targaryens just yet and Vaeron was said to be a nearly spitting image of Rhaegar Targaryen.

"You're her older brother, you dictate the household," Eddard Karstark reminded him, taking a seat beside him. "Besides, I know of a few matches for your sister if she is as lovely as you claim. You may not be Westerosi nobility, but I'm not daft. You came to me knowing how to read, speaking High Valyrian, and educated. Few nobles around here can boast that kind of education."

Vaeron sighed and nodded, he had been plagued by memories, tormented by the visions of what they once had. To be reduced to dirt had been jarring, but Vaeron did not mind proving himself. His father had claimed that it would build character. One day they would be at the top again, it would only take hard work. But Vaeron had witnessed many peasants who worked hard to amount to nothing. They did not aspire to become nobles, for they knew that was fighting an impossible battle.

"Come, we're preparing for the assault. I want you at my side today."

Edd Karstark led him from the perch that Vaeron had chosen among the campsite. All of their campaigning had led up to this moment. Vaeron had killed men before, but never on an open field like this. They had worked hard to cut off the escape of the pirates, unbeknownst to them. They had been trekking inland to go after one of the wealthier towns that possessed a great influx of furs. While the furs were used in daily life in the north, these furs would go for a good deal of coin across the sea in the Free Cities. Usually, these port towns were easy picking and many of them had been on Karstark land. The Karstarks were arriving late to ever occurence and the pirates had grown bold, choosing to mine deeper.

"My lord, your brother has cut the forest retreat off," a scout flanked them as Edd and Vaeron mounted up.

"Meaning the only escape would be to the Grey Cliffs," Vaeron deduced. The only path leading down or around the Grey Cliffs would have already been covered. Northerners did not take kindly to guerilla siege of their land and these pirates had become increasingly brazen and greedy. The carnage they left made him recall the way that his home had been turned upside down just five years ago. No one deserved that, be they noble or smallfolk. Having become a commoner, Vaeron's heart couldn't help but go out to them. Nobles never truly appreciated the hard work and threats these people faced, not when they were warm and fed in their stone castles. They did not fear someone kicking down their door and murdering them for money.

"Time to finally end this farce," Edd growled.

_Farce? So many have suffered. Many lives that cannot be replaced, _Vaeron thought as they brought the horses forward, leaving the clearing of their camp and beginning the short journey to the town beneath. They had camped a few miles upwind of the town. Edd Karstark had taken two hundred men with him to put a stopper to the pirate escapades. At this point, Rickard Karstark was growing cross with the inability of his sons to bring justice to their land. If Lord Eddard Stark learned of their failures, he would send some of his men, and that would bring shame to the Karstarks.

Grey Town was was encompassed by the forest, a town of stone, for which it was named grey. Stacks rose from the chimneys, despite the mild summer they had been graced with. Verdant grass grew on the thatch on top of their roofs, dotting the somber town in some color. Much of the north was somber when compared to Lys, but Vaeron found that he preferred the foundation. The north was resolute and built upon honor and word. Of course, there were still bad men, but Vaeron had hoped to become one of those that hunted the rapist and murderers. Now, he had the chance to prove himself on the field.

Using the cover of the forest, they waited within the trees for their foes to begin filtering into the town. Vaeron's fingers tightened around the hilt of his longsword as screams raised into the air, signifying that the raiding had begun. Lord Edd raised a horn to his lips and with a heavy blow, it bellowed and trilled through the air, signifying to the varying parties that the point would be charging. After he lowered the horn, he ripped his sword from its scabbard, which sang a familiar melody of steel, before the mounted riders plunged down the hill and toward Grey Town.

Vaeron had his own sword in hand, pushing his gelding into the village. It was absolute pandemonium. Between the darkly clad pirates and the Karstark men descending upon them, the smallfolk were getting wedged in the middle. Barreling down the main road, Vaeron's blade swept down and cleaved through the thin mail and leather the pirates were garbed in. He dismounted when he saw a man trying to disappear behind a door, fingers wrapped in a woman's hair, pulling her as she screamed and kicked.

Before the door could slam shut, Vaeron wedged his boot in and shouldered it back. The man dropped the woman and unsheathed a dirk, flicking it dexterously between his hands. But there was a terror in his eyes, wide as Vaeron took a strong step forward. "Targaryen…" he muttered, faltering. Vaeron did not and he drove his sword through the man's chest and shoved him back into a lump.

The woman was shaking violently, covering her head and eyes as she kicked herself across the floor and into a corner. "Are you alright-" Vaeron was going to check on her when he heard loud shouting outside the house.

Unable to remain there while the fight was still raging outside, Vaeron swiftly swept back out. A throng of pirates had ambushed Edd and the other soldiers that had been flanking him. Outnumbered three to one, the Karstark men were dropping like flies. _Fuck. _He had let the commoners distract him and he'd left Edd. Switching his grip to possess both hands on the hilt of his sword, Vaeron charged forward. He was quick enough to dispatch two men before the other rounded. Where were their reinforcements? The second point should have driven up from the rear before they could escape.

Vaeron's blade locked with a thuggish brute that was an entire head taller than him. His cutlass was chipped, older and malused, salt deteriorating the blade further. The bigger they were, the slower they moved. Vaeron waited for the man to act first, ducking beneath the swing of the cutlass before driving his sword up into his belly, wrenching it sideways so that the man's entrails spilled out and he collapsed to his knees trying to collect the contents.

Vaeron didn't pause, heart thick in his chest as she went after one of the men assaulting Edd. When it came to fighting with the sword, Vaeron felt as swift as a dragon. He made rapid movements, striking true. He was lithe enough to dodge attacks and had the skill to parry when need be. His blood pounded in his ears, thrilled by the battle which he partook in, almost as if it had always been within him to be a warrior. With the fury of a dragon, he cut down man after man, bolstering the remaining Karstark soldiers by his prowess.

Did he savor it? In a twisted way he knew that the Lord of Light had intended for a sword to be in his palm. Why else would no man stand against him? Each that came before him met a swift, but brutal death. Just as soon as it had begun, the battle ended and the bodies of the legionnaires were being collected.

Vaeron had not even noticed that he was slick with the blood of his enemies, his pale silvery hair plastered to his face in a wash of crimson. Edd Karstark placed a hand on his shoulder, the man's grey eyes bearing into him. Edd was typically a very stoic man, but as he gazed at Vaeron there was a glimmer of pride and admiration on his face.

* * *

After Grey Town had been cleaned up, Edd had allowed Vaeron time off to convince his sister to move to Karhold, possibly to work as a handmaiden for his sister Alys. The Karstark's words echoed his head, his fingers flexing reflexively. "You could give the Kingslayer a run for his money. I've never seen a man move in such a fury." Vaeron tried not to let the words go to his head, but he couldn't help but fancy that perhaps he was on the same level as the famed Jaime Lannister. Maybe one day he would get the chance to obliterate the man that belonged to a family that condoned the death of innocent Targaryen babes.

It had been more than a moon since he had last seen Alyra and he was eager to see the blossoming young girl. He always knew that his sister would be a lovely woman, beholding the coveted Valyrian lavender eyes and hair of silken moonlight. Perhaps that was why he preferred to keep her hidden in a small town surrounded by forest. At least she was secluded from men who would want to take her. Vaeron considered it many times before. Even if Edd Karstark offered a good marriage for her, be it to a low caste noble, Vaeron would never marry her if she was not supportive. They had been through too much together for him to force her into a loveless marriage. They were smallfolk now and the one freedom they had was to choose who they loved.

The trees hugged close to him, their verdant leaves and pines grasping after his dark cloak. A strange scent greeted him, almost like a cookfire, but stronger. Vaeron wondered if Alyra had burned something. Often enough she forgot she had stew on the fire and let it simmer to high, burning the bottom. He always joked how she liked her food charred like a dragon, much to her chagrin. But when the trees parted to show the outskirts of their farm, Vaeron's heart plummeted as if he'd jumped off the Grey Cliffs and into the freezing ocean. Their home was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash, some of the beams still standing, but little more than hollow pieces of charcoal.

Vaeron was so stunned that it took him a moment to spur his gelding and dart forward, his mind reeling as he dismounted and scrambled among the wreckage. "Lyra!" he was breathless, heart in his throat, gloves shoving beams away. He pleaded to R'hllor that he would not find her body among the bones of the house, but she was nowhere to be found. How had this happened? "_LYRA!" _his voice was loud and hoarse as he shoved a piece of wood over. He thought he was doing to die when he saw a body curled up, shrunken and unidentifiable. He thought it was Alyra, sinking to his knees and letting out an agonizing scream.

Why? After all they had been through, why were they already greeted by this misfortune? First their parents had been taken from them. Their murders occurring just above them, listening to the sound of their mother being raped as they quaked beneath the floorboards, unable to do anything but pray they would not be found. Now, he was alone.

Vaeron was kneeling beside the body when he noticed a glimmer beneath it. Moving lethargically, he pulled it out, realizing that it was a sword. A Karstark made sword. Vaeron turned it over, the leather scabbard had been burned away and the castle forged longsword sat in his hands. The rings of the belt remained, only the metal glinting. This was not Alyra.

His head whipped around and he stood, dropping the sword to the ground as he trotted over to where he believed the pantry had been. He dusted the soot off and broke the wood away, the bags of grain and furs had been burned, but among the wreckage and foul stench there was no chest. Alyra would have taken the chest if she fled.

Vaeron began laughing, a soft and pitiful laugh as he ran his dirty fingers back through his hair, smearing soot in his snowy locks. He didn't know what had happened, but Alyra had fled. He hoped that she would go to Karhold, but the fact that the dead man had wielded one of their swords made him doubt that she would. If he was a Karstark soldier, the last place Alyra would go would be Karhold.

Vaeron stood up and dragged himself across the farm and the downtrodden fields. This had been turnover season and new seeds were to be planted for the long harvest. His legs carried him over to pale tree with crimson leaves and he fell before it. He had forsaken this tree, hated it for everything it had stood for and yet... The bones of his parents laid beneath it. The north belonged to the Old Gods, not R'hllor.

"Please, please protect her," he begged, pressing his forehead to the bark.


	3. Alyra II

A/N: The timeline is altered in this series. Jon Arryn's death happens later (301 AC rather than 298 AC), thus the rest of the events are also pushed back. Alyra was born 283 AC and Vaeron was born 278 AC. Thus, when Jon Arryn dies, Alyra is 18 and Vaeron is 23.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

_Alyra_

Her hair was gone, all of it, but that wasn't that bad. It was nice not having people stare at her and she'd gotten a leather cap that covered her ears, had, and much of her forehead. She had never seen that much silver before, her family had always been very sparing with their coin. She was able to buy a warm cloak and new boots, saving the rest for food and possibly purchasing an apprenticeship if she could. The man on the farm had seen her, but she had bolted so quickly that he hadn't been able to get on his horse fast enough to pursue her. On top of that, Alyra knew the forest. No one would find her unless she wanted to be found.

She decided she would go to Winterfell and find a job. She would be safe there and once she worked in the castle, she could blend into the background. Maybe she'd help with the hunting hounds or sew leather and help tan skins. Whatever she did, Alyra was going to work as hard as she could so that she earned her place and would be protected. What if that man that had perished in the fire had been important to the Karstarks? Even her brother wouldn't be able to save her and it would only cause him issues to have a sister that had killed a soldier. So, if she went to Winterfell, no one would know her or Vaeron. Maybe she could send a raven and tell him that she was safe. Alyra wondered how much it cost to send a raven.

It took Alyra a good deal of time to travel to Winterfell on her own. She kept to the forest at night and had her hood up to obscure her features. Without hair on her head or even eyebrows, no one really looked at her. _Why hadn't I thought of doing this before? _she wondered, adjusting her position on the saddle as she passed through a small town just outside of Winterfell. Having rarely traveled outside her farm, Alyra had asked for directions to Winterfell in towns when she was purchasing food and been given solid advice. On the main road, no one preyed upon her, and her only worries were of the wolves that bayed at night. She grew so fearful of them that she began sleeping in the trees, tying her horse before, listening hard to make certain that the wolves didn't begin harrying her mount.

Winterfell was enormous, two high walls rising to encompass a plethora of buildings that were obscured by the stone. Wintertown was very quiet, surprisingly so for the size of it, but being summer, the village was only host to a permanent residence that moved elsewhere when it was not winter. No doubt, Alyra was marveling open mouthed as she cantered in and across a bridge that laid over a moat. The second wall of Winterfell was even higher than the first, watchtowers jousting at the grey sky that threatened to put a thin layer of summer snow on the ground.

The courtyard that Alyra entered was filled with various people. She found a stablehand that was giving her a dubious look. Now that she was in Winterfell, she didn't need the horse. "Excuse me," Alyra called, hopping down from the stallion and bringing him forward. "I was wondering if I could sell this horse and maybe find a job in the castle."

The boy appeared to be a handful of years older than her, snorting indignantly at her. "Where'd you steal him from?" he asked gruffly.

Alyra's eyes flashed and she felt her heart clench in her chest. "I didn't... I didn't steal him," not entirely a lie. The man had been dead, so the horse needed someone to look after it. "He belonged to my father. My father was a soldier, but he died..." she glanced at her feet, feigning sorrow as she kicked at the earth.

"I'll fetch the master of horse," the boy got to his feet and disappeared in the stables. It was a few minutes before voices rose through the doors and a large man came out to greet her.

The master of horse turned and inspected the stallion she had behind her. "Not a bad breed. Definitely the horse of a soldier, not that of a noble borne. What happened to your father, Lass?"

"He died in a fire that took our house. He always was the type to leave the lamp on late at night... Maybe he knocked it over. I was out hunting and I returned to nothing," Alyra twisted the truth, winging it like a cloth over a washing basin. "I thought Winterfell was the safest place to come. My father would tell me how honorable Lord Stark was. I have no need for the horse any longer if I am to stay here."

"I can offer two silver stags for the horse and the saddle," he suggested.

Alyra knew that the horse with a fine saddle was worth much more than that, but she didn't need to create enemies as soon as she walked into Winterfell. It wasn't as if she would be paying for her own food, so the silver could be saved for new clothing. "I accept... I'm Alyra. Do you know where I can find a job? I was hoping to help with the hounds or maybe a tanner?"

"My name is Hullen, the boy is Gabe. Sorry he gave you trouble, you seem as if you've been through a lot Alyra. Farlen, the kennelmaster, is just around the corner from here. You can see if he'll give you some work. I'll keep your horse and your things here for you until you secure a job," Hullen pointed around the corner to the gated entrance of the kennels. Alyra was a bit nervous leaving her things with the horse, but she would rouse suspicion is she began rummaging through the saddle bags to retrieve her family's heirloom, even if she had wrapped it in burlap to be less conspicuous.

Alyra nodded and trailed over to the kennel grates which were open for the day. The yipping of the dogs grew louder as she approached and she espied the creatures within their cages, a muscular, bald man standing in front of one, glancing down at a dog whose tail thumped pitifully against the ground. From the pale whiskers on the dogs face, Alyra could see that the hound was very old.

"Pardon me, are you Farlen?" Alyra asked politely, nearly jumping out of her skin when the man turned and set his intimidating eyes on her. "I was wondering if I could have a job here-"

"Who are you? Scram girl!" the man snapped, nearly making her flinch.

"Please, I really need a job," Alyra continued, stepping toward Farlen.

"And I care because? Go talk to the cook. Girls do not belong in the kennels," he growled, just as malicious looking as some of the dogs.

"I can't cook," Alyra felt her eyes pricking with tears. "But I know how to hunt and I'm good with dogs. Please just give me the chance. I don't have anywhere to go-"

Farlen strode toward her in two long stride, grabbing her by the collar of her roughspun tunic and hefting her off her scrawny feet. "Get out of here!" he threw her toward the door, sending her skittering backward, her rear screaming in protest. She bumped into someone who was standing in the doorway. "Maester Lewin," Farlen appeared apologetic to have tossed a child into the man.

When Alyra glanced up she saw that an old man in grey robes was standing, a few vials contained in his hands. He had a chain of many links around his throat and was staring curiously at her. Realizing that she was in his way, Alyra scampered out of his path and settled a sultry glare on Farlen.

"I've brought you the correct dosage for your hound as requested," the maester said. Alyra was about to slip out through the back and try to find someone that would take her when the man turned. "Child, wait just outside for me."

Immediately, Alyra wished she could vanish into nothing. Had the maester become upset since she had fallen on his feet? Did she had time to run? Would they ride her down on horses for falling on a maester's feet? Farlen had thrown her, how was that fair? Sulkily, Alyra nodded and skirted outside the kennel, leaning up against the bars as she waited for the maester to complete his business. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she ran through all of the terrible scenarios that might occur.

When the maester returned he leveled a kind smile at her. "What is your name child?"

She had been so nervous that she spoke all at once. "Alyrataennaris."

"Alyra... Taennaris?" he repeated with more clarity.

She nodded mutely.

"Taenarris... That's Valyrian isn't it? You've got purple eyes too. Many of the northerners are unnerved by them due to our recent history. Where are you from?"

"My parents were from Lys. I moved here when I was really young and I've lived on a farm until now. Am I in trouble?"

Maester Lewin's laughter was bright and his smile warmed her, the first true shed of kindness that Alyra had been greeted by. She sniffled, trying to keep back the tears. "You wanted a job, didn't you Alyra? I overheard."

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"What skills do you possess?" he asked her.

"I can... hunt, set traps, and I know how to tan hides. I can sew them too. I used to make dresses and cloaks for people in my village. My mother and father told me how to read and write-"

"You can read?" Maester Lewin's brows shot up as if this were unheard of.

"Yes... We had a great library in Lys. Or so my brother would say. I don't really remember any of it... But I can speak High Valyrian too. All of our books were in Valyrian, but father always said that learning Westerosi was useful since we lived here."

Maester Lewin considered the information he was given, taking so long that dread started to fill the pit of her stomach. What if her skills were good for nothing? "Would you mind cleaning up, washing finery, and answering to any whims, whether that be to deliver a message, write notes, or read them aloud?"

All of those tasks sounded rather easy. "Not at all. That sounds simple."

"Then come with me. We shall speak with Lady Catelyn. I recall she needed a new servant for her daughters."

* * *

**(301 AC)**

"Oh Lyra, I'm just so excited for the king to finally arrive," Sansa sighed dreamily as Alyra braided her hair. It had been five years since she had come to Winterfell and been assigned as handmaiden to Sansa and Arya Stark. Arya was easy, all she had to do was clean up after the child, but Sansa was the one who required the most attention. The lovely little pup of fifteen name days past was sweet in appearance, but Alyra had seen her tear into her younger sister without reproach.

Fortunately, Alyra was clever enough to have not gotten on Sansa's bad side in her years of service. The child certainly liked her much more than Septa Mordane who was apparently boring and strict. Lyra didn't teach lessons like the Septa and thus, Sansa didn't have anything to hold against her.

"I hear that the prince is very handsome," Alyra said mindlessly. She tried not to dwell on the Baratheons, given their history with the Targaryens. Alyra might not have been a Targaryen, but she had their Valyrian look.

"Not that you'll get to see him," Sansa pouted. "Father said you can't be seen during the king's visit."

And thank Lord Eddard for that. "It's quite alright, my lady."

"I wish you could wear your hair down more and not in that accursed bonnet. It's very lovely Lyra," the girl continued.

"And obvious. People still remember the war against the Targaryens and though I am not one of them, my family was prosecuted once before for simply having the same look. Your lord father is very wise for thinking to have be away while the king is here," Lyra commented, affirming Lord Eddard's decision.

Her time in Winterfell had been more than anything she could have hoped for. Not only had she been given a coveted position due to her skills of reading, writing, and translating, but Lady Catelyn had made strides to develop the girl who would be watching over her daughters. Alyra could never repay the Starks for what they had done; dressing her, giving her separate chambers, allowing the girls to give her gifts come the holidays, a place with the Pooles during dinner, and further training in etiquette. Even Maester Lewin allowed her to spend her free time in his office, thumbing through some of the books written in Valyrian in exchange for some help. His eyes were becoming weaker with the years passing and Alyra was able to read some of the recipes he was having difficulty making out.

By then, Alyra knew it would have been inappropriate to request a raven to send to her brother. Both of them were just smallfolk, even if Alyra's service had awarded her merit in Winterfell. Sending a raven to Karhold just to tell a soldier that his peasant sister was alive? Alyra understood now how be stupid that would be. The ravens were not theirs to use, they belonged to their lieges. So, she hoped that Vaeron was doing well and not tearing himself apart for not knowing what happened to her.

_I'm safe, I hope you are too_, she thought, often thinking of him when she went to the Godswood.

"Imagine if you were noble borne. You wouldn't have to hide your hair and you would have so many suitors," Sansa sighed, her head obviously in the clouds.

"I am as the Gods intended, my lady. And one day, perhaps I can wear my hair down. That day is not today," she told Sansa not unkindly.

"But you don't even know much about your family and smallfolk don't have surnames," Sansa rounded to glance up at Alyra with her Tully-blue eyes. "I bet you're of noble blood from Lys."

"Then why would my family move here and buy a farm?" Alyra smirked, turning the girl back around so that she could finish styling her hair. Sansa had these idle thoughts all the time, somehow trying to bring Alyra on a more tangible level. The ideas were cute and Alyra was pleased that Sansa favored her so much she wished her noble, but Alyra truly recalled very little of Lys.

"Maybe your family was persecuted like the Targaryens," Sansa shrugged.

"We'll never know. I am happy here, my lady," finishing the braid, the tied it. "There you are my lady."

Sansa stood up and pulled the braid forward, inspecting the intricate design that Alyra had done. "For someone who never wears her hair down, you're good at styling it," Sansa jested before turning back to Alyra. The young Stark already overstepped her. Alyra could recall when she had been taller than Sansa, being three years her senior, but now the tables had turned. Sansa was tall and lithe, a willowy and beautiful lady. Alyra was petite when standing beside her, hair knotted tightly behind her head and covered by a brown bonnet.

"Thank you, my lady. Would you mind if I excused myself to go pray in the Godswood?"

"Of course, I've got some more lessons with Septa Mordane," Sansa rolled her eyes at the idea and the two females departed through the door.

After their paths diverged, Alyra descended the stairs in the Great Keep and slowly crossed the main courtyard, past some of the men who were practicing sword. Each time she saw them, she was reminded of Vaeron. The Godswood was dark and warm, the hot pools creating a slice of eternal summer inside of Winterfell. The thick canopies knitted together to create an envelope that kept away sunlight or what little there was. She'd found solace in the heart tree, reminding her of the one on her farm that her parents had been buried at.

The small patch between the weirwood and a dark pool of water is where she knelt. Pressing her fingers to the pale bark of the tree she bowed her head in prayer as she always did. Her first thoughts were of her brother. Had he found a wife? Did she had nieces or nephews? Was he alive? Vaeron had always been the strong one, the one who sacrificed his own sanity so that Alyra would not suffer. What kind of man was he now?

Her thoughts afterward went to the health of Eddard Stark and his family and the gratitude that Alyra had for their kindness. The Starks had been nothing but fair and despite her position as a low borne, they gave each of their servants the ability to prove their worth.

A shadow flitted to her left, ferns whispering as they were moved by an invisible wind. When she opened her eyes, she glanced into the darkness of the rest of the wood, wondering what had just passed her. Perhaps one of the direwolves. The young wolves were free to roam the Godswood as they pleased and would often dart between the shadows.

"Always with the praying. I swear, you're in here more than all the Starks combined," the sneering voice drew her attention.

Standing slowly, Alyra turned to see the dark haired man who was Theon Greyjoy entering the Godswood with his hands in his coat pockets. A smile curled up the corners of his lips. Alyra had been harried by him before, the handmaiden who wouldn't give her maidenhood to him. Among the other servants, he was notorious, and many of the girls didn't mind having laid in a bed with him for an evening. Alyra had no such interest.

"It is not a sin to be religious, my lord," Alyra told Theon, brushing the grass off of her skirts.

"What else could you be praying for? What worries does a handmaiden like yourself have? Worried you won't find a husband?" he was poking fun at her, as if teasing her would make her fonder of him.

"What every commoner prays for. The safety of their lord, for the harvest to be bountiful, and for the weather to be forgiving," she retorted, trying to stride past him.

Greyjoy caught her by the arm, his grip ironlike. She was so much smaller than him, unable to do more than glare at the forest ahead. "Yes, commoners pray for rain. You're a lot smarter than the other peasants. Or else you wouldn't be seated with the Pooles for meals..." he leaned into her ear, his breath hot on her neck. But she did not balk, this was nowhere near as terrifying at the night her home had burned down. "And this... thing. Are you bald underneath? Thinning? Burned? I've considered it all, I really have."

Those words made her heart quicken and she tried to wrench her arm from his grip. "Just my hair, my lord," she told him fervently, losing her composure. She couldn't hit him or fight back, it was his word against hers and she was nothing. Theon Greyjoy was the heir to the Iron Islands, he would be a lord one day.

"Let me see then," as much as she wriggled, she couldn't shake free of him. Theon reached over and untied the bonnet amidst her struggling. When he pulled it off and frowned. "It's just... hair."

"Of course it is, my lord!" her eyes were hot on his and then the pieces clicked in Theon's skull.

"So that's why you cover it," he grinned, fingering the bun at the base of her head. "Silver hair and purple eyes. You've got the Targaryen look. So you've hid it. What if this bonnet were to just..." Theon threw it behind him and it landed on the surface of the dark pool in front of the heart tree. "Disappear?"

Alyra gaped at her bonnet, the shield that had protected her for all of these years. She had several, but they were all back in her room. Finally she wrenched free and stumbled toward the black pond and in her plight, scooped her hands in the water in a desperate attempt to coax the bonnet toward her. It was half floating, becoming more and more damp.

"So you must be a Targaryen bastard then," Theon was standing over her shoulder glancing at the bonnet.

"I-I'm not," she stammered, her cheeks hot and embarrassment thick in her chest. Her hair had been loosened by Theon and she could feel the waves beginning to break free from their bond.

"Theon!" another voice distracted the Greyjoy, pulling him away from her and to the one that had spoken. A wolf flitted in front of her and paused on the other side of the pool, the slate grey fur marking him as Robb Stark's wolf. "My father is looking for you. He wishes to speak to you."

Alyra locked eyes with Grey Wind, the pup was the size of a normal hound, but not yet at the peak for a direwolf. He bent down and lapped from the water, staring curiously at the half floating object in the center.

"Grey Wind," Robb called, his voice closer this time. The wolf trotted around the pool and paused to sniff Alyra. "Grey Wind, leave the lady alone."

_He doesn't recognize me_? Alyra thought. She'd seen Robb Stark plenty of times, especially while in the company of Sansa and Arya. The eldest Stark child was a handsome young man that all of the servant girls spoke about in hushed and delighted whispers. He may have had the Tully look, dark auburn curls, and Tully-blue eyes, but he had his father's temperament.

Having been at Winterfell for five years, she had crossed paths, delivered messages, and even done some favors on behalf of Robb Stark. He knew her by name, but just like Eddard, he knew all the servants by name.

"My lady, are you alright? I hope Theon didn't offend you," Robb implored.

Unable to remain crouched by the pool, Alyra leapt to her feet and bowed deeply, her hair obscuring her face. "I-it's fine my lord."

Between the tuffs of silver white hair she saw that Robb Stark appeared mildly confused. "A... Alyra?" he tried to get a look at her beneath the mess of hair.

"Yes, my lord," she stood back up, erect, and smoothed her hair and pulled it out of her face.

"I didn't know you had..." Robb Stark seemed at a loss.

"Hair? Apparently Lord Theon didn't either," she didn't mean to sound contemptuous, but the words fell out of her mouth anyways.

"He did this?"


	4. Robb I

CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

_Robb_

With the arrival of the king pending, Winterfell was beginning to grow busier than Robb had ever seen it. Between his mother making arrangements, his father governing the keep, and the servants all in a flurry, Robb was beginning to be handed more duties and responsibilities. With rumor that his father might leave for King's Landing, Robb knew that many more duties would come to follow once he was the acting lord. Thus, he took each assignment as seriously as the last, knowing that many more difficult ones would soon be laid at his feet.

He had gone to the Godswood to fetch Theon and found a woman with hair of starlight crouched in front of it, her hands damp with the waters of the dark pool that sat beneath the heart tree. There had been no expecting that it was Sansa and Arya's handmaiden. When she pushed her hair from out of her face, Robb was startled. Often, Alyra kept her gaze down, as not to unnerve people with her amethyst eyes. But between the drab brown gowns and way she tucked away all of her hair, only her dark brows revealed, Robb had never really spent much time inspecting the handmaiden. Not until her long pale hair was loose and it fluffed up around her comely face. Theon had always had an eye for her, but Robb had simply thought of Alyra has a servant that he had minimal conversations with. Now, she was like a beacon in the Godswood.

"He did this?" Robb asked, unable to withdraw his staring, much to his own chagrin. The beauty of the Targaryens had been legendary and even though Alyra was not among the extinct house, she had the features of a Valyrian. Her exotic beauty had been purposely hidden, her hair sticking out among the muted colors of the north. He knew she was from Lys, Sansa mentioned it from time to time, saying she wanted to visit and bring Alyra along, but he expected her hair to match her brows. Even if she had dark hair, Robb would have been flabbergasted. The modesty was gone.

"Uh, yes my lord," she glared at the ground, kicking at the soil. "And threw my bonnet into the pool."

Robb glanced behind her and saw the sopping wet piece of cloth that was just barely clinging to the surface of the water. "Oh," he glanced around and found a long branch, using it to fish the bonnet out. Robb wrung out as much water as he could before offering it back to Alyra.

Quickly, the young woman tied her hair again and began stuffing it underneath the wet headpiece. He was disappointed to see her hair disappear, but for the first time Robb saw her. How he had not noticed why Theon had been so hung up on getting the handmaiden in bed was beyond him. She was a petite thing with a child bearing hips and a voluptous form. Her face was as if hewn of marble with high cheekbones and a sweet chin, milky and fair, her nose small and narrow, eyes soft beneath her dark brows, and lips full and pale. He had just never considered her, taken the time to soak in her features. A woman like her deserved silks, not roughspun cotton or linen.

"I'm sorry for troubling you, my lord," she pardoned.

"It was no trouble at all," Robb assured her, smiling at the way the bonnet stuck to her angular face.

His eyes trailed after her as she disappeared out of the Godswood. Grey Wind huffed and nosed into his palm. Shortly, the Baratheons would be arriving in Winterfell and he couldn't let himself get distracted. _Right under my nose this entire time. Gods am I blind? _Robb wondered silently, striding out of the place of prayer so that he could head back out into the main courtyard.

"Robb," his mother had found him quicker than a hound to an injured deer. She grasped his arm and began dragging him along with her. "I need your eyes for some of the lists. Your father is too busy-"

"That's fine, mother, I'll join you," Robb agreed, despite his wandering mind. How hard could checking requisition lists be?

Catelyn brought Robb to the Great Hall that was completely empty aside from some rolls of parchment that had been laid out by Vayon Poole. The steward had left various lists, some of which were the appropriate counts and what had originally been requested. Robb had no idea the work he had agreed to do, but when he compared the ledgers, especially some of the price ones, he knew that his mother was not going to be pleased to see that the price of cow had increased. With winter inevitably looming in front of them, farmers were being wiser when it came to selling their wares. Winterfell was not as rich as the southron lords and his family had always been keen on not spending more above their means.

"Cows have really increased that many silvers?" Catelyn was dismayed as he thought she was to be.

"Winter will soon be upon us. Farmers are going to be less willing to part with what may get them through the winter," Robb reminded her. A cow could feed a family for a good deal of time. Perhaps not the whole winter, but if they had a handful of cows and bred them, then they could make it work. Being that it was still summer, they were willing to part with the livestock, but soon gold would do them nothing and they'd starve with money, but no food in their bellies. "In a letter from the Karstarks, they've been doing well trading furs with Braavos. Perhaps we should think about creating trade routes before winter sets in. We may not think much about our furs, but they are highly desired elsewhere."

"Do you really think that the northerners will take kindly to having strangers use their roads?" Catelyn asked him.

"They wouldn't have to. We could use our own people to bring the wares, it would create jobs for the smallfolk and promote commerce. Come winter, we could build on these connections and continue to trade fur through the winter. Aside from snow, it's our more abundant resource," Robb said, glancing at the ledgers that made him wonder why they worried. Purchasing food shouldn't have been such an arduous task.

"I'll… mention it to your father. I've spoken of it before, but perhaps he will listen to you," Catelyn conceded. "It would be good to start trade routes, make traveling easier between the castles, but we just haven't the time to devote to it."

"Why not?" Robb prompted. Not having enough time was an excuse, putting other more monotonous tasks above what could improve their land and the life of their people. "Is father going to King's Landing?"

Catelyn didn't hide her expression well enough and Robb knew for certain almost immediately. "I… am not certain yet," she lied.

"It should be slow here when father is gone, perhaps after getting his permission then it would be best to begin preparations before it becomes too late. If the routes are established and prepared before winter, that would give us time to purchase stocks, grain, and food that will survive us the winter."

He stayed in the hall with his mother, sifting through the parchment for a few hours more, before dinner was called and Vayon came by to scoop up their work. Robb stood, stretching his back, wondering if everyday would be his meticulous and boring once he assumed his father's duties. Additional tables were pulled out for the servants to join in the hall and soon, Sansa and Arya were being led in with their handmaiden trailing. Alyra had cleaned up in the time he had been working, replacing the soiled bonnet with a new pressed and clean one.

He watched as she took her seat next to Jeyne Poole and across from Vayon, smiling familiarly at her dining partners at one of the tables beneath the dias. Robb's fixation did not end with dinner, barely registering what his mother was saying to his father. By now, Robb was certain that his father would be going to King's Landing and quite possibly his sisters as well. Sansa had dreamed of going south of the Twins as long as he could remember, fantasizing about knights of fable. Even though knights were not common in the north, he never understood the fixation.

When dinner ended, Robb was left brooding, both on what he might be able to do for the north and the Valyrian beauty that had been sitting just a dozen feet away from him. In the night he dreamed of a maiden with hair of moonlight and dragons.

* * *

As he had predicted, Winterfell was left in his hands to take care of. So much had happened that Robb swore the time was flying by him faster than an arrow could hit a target. Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower, Sansa was betrothed to the spoilt brat, Joffrey, and Arya and his father had also gone south. Part of him expected their handmaiden to go along with them, but she stayed. Perhaps it was wise seeing King Robert's blatant hatred of the Targaryens. He'd boasted quite a bit about how they were inbred, mad, and how he had loved smashing in Prince Rhaegar's head. Fortunately, Alyra had not gone to that dinner.

Robb was moving forward with his original suggestion of starting fur trading. He had already written to Lord Rickard Karstark and Lord Manderly, both of which were situated with prime positions for setting up trading ports. With the wolfswood at his back, much of the fur could be acquired there and in the forests around Karhold. Winterfell would act as a hub, where the fur was brought to be processed and then transported either to Karhold or White Harbor. He need only find those interested in the items, secure prospective buyers, and solidify the roads. He already has prospects in Pentos and would be riding south to the Manderlys to meet with the Pentoshi merchants.

"My lord, may I suggest that you bring the girl, Alyra? Pentoshi speak a bastard variation of Valyrian. It would be wise to have someone who can understand them if they choose to speak it over Westerosi," Maester Lewin had put the worm in his ear and Robb couldn't have been more interested in bringing Alyra along. He rarely saw her now that she assumed her duty of tending to his mother.

Catelyn was little more than a husk, sitting beside Bran, night and day, waiting for just a small sliver of hope. He had lived from his fall, but whether or not he would wake up was still a mystery. It was in the hands of the Gods as far as Robb was concerned and Catelyn had another child that was feeling the neglect. Rickon had become wild and untamed ever since his mother had stopped paying him heed. He ran through Winterfell with Shaggy Dog like a tyrant, the uncouth direwolf startling and scaring all of the servants. But he had other things to worry about and he hoped that Rodrick would manage to rein in his terror of a brother.

In a small party, Robb took Alebelly, Hullen, Poxy Tym, and Alyra with him to White Harbor. The men tried to keep their cursing to a minimum while in the presence of a woman. Taking over a week, Robb and his companions came upon the lovely city made of stone as pale as Alyra's hair. It was among the largest settlement north of the Neck, even larger than Winterfell due to the city that was attached to it. At the city's pinnacle was New Castle, the seat of House Manderly. Flying from the ramparts was the merman sigil of the house, beneath it the city of marble spanning beneath it until the waves and docks lapped at the base.

Waiting for them at the gates was Lord Wyman Manderly, who seemingly struggled to hold up his girth as he beamed at his Stark visitors. He had golden hair that was thinning along the top and a sallow beard to match it. Robb supposed the beard was only there to try and hide his double chins, despite the way Wyman's belly potruded from his trousers. His teal tunic could have dressed one of the tables in the Great Hall. Lord Manderly could probably give King Robert a run for his money when it came to size.

"Lord Robb! Oh it's such a pleasure to have you here. It seems like just yesterday you were just as high as my knees," he greeted as Robb dismounted, locking forearms with one of the Stark's most loyal bannermen.

"Likewise Lord Wyman, it's good to see you're in such great health."

Wyman broke out into a fit of jolly laughter, nearly bowling Robb over his belly. "Got a bit more humor in your than your father, I see," his eyes trailed behind Robb to the only woman that had ridden with them. "And who have you brought with you? A northern lady I do not know?"

"Ah, this is Alyra, she has been a loyal servant to the Starks for nearly six years now," Robb said, motioning for Alyra to come forward. "She is learned and will be sitting counsel with me during the negotiations."

Lord Wyman, a widower of more than eight years now, took Alyra's hand in his. With fingers as large as sausages, he dwarfed her slender one. "Are you Lysene? You have lovely eyes, Alyra," he told her before kissing the back of her hand.

Alyra gave him a kind smile. "Thank you my lord, I am. It is truly an honor to be here."

"The honor is all mine," he released her from his grasp. "You all must be exhausted from the riding. Before any negotiations happen, I'll see that you're all fed, bathed, and clothed. The meeting with Brachos Eranios is set for tomorrow at noon. That leaves for plenty of time for you all to settle in."

Robb followed Lord Manderly as he puffed along the pale halls, statues hewn of marble in the shape of mermaids and mermen peppering their path. Unlike the grey and somber halls of Winterfell, New Castle reflected the light and seemed as cheerful as Wyman acted. There were times when Robb nearly thought that Wyman was going to have to take a seat from how loud he was breathing, but the man kept huffing along, trying to explain statues, banners, and relics they passed. The wealth of House Manderly was due to their connections with the port and while Robb certainly wouldn't have spent it on fishmen statues, he was eager to also be able to put money where it could be used. His ambition was only fueled by the differences in New Castle and Winterfell.

"I must say I was a bit taken aback that you wanted to get into the trading business," Lord Wyman was saying, finally breaking away from explaining his displays of wealth. "What made you consider it?"

"I was going through the ledgers a couple of months ago when we were arranging the feast for King Robert. Between the cost of simple luxuries and how many resources we have with impending winter, I thought we could make use of one of the amenities we had an over abundance of. We may not see fur as much more than a bolt of cotton, but in Braavos or Pentos, they would spend good coin on furs we take for granted. Forging relationships with the Free Cities also means that we could trade for resources to stock up before winter," Robb explained. Between how long ravens took to deliver messages, he had a good amount of time to contemplate what his goals were.

"Interesting… And I wonder how that may benefit White Harbor too," Wyman said wistfully, but did not press upon the matter. "Here we are, Lord Robb the servants shall escort you from here."

Lord Wyman seemed relieved to be able to sit down and have his household take control of the situation. He noticed that the lord bent over to one of them, motioning to Alyra before the maid went to escort her away. Robb was led by girl through the monotonous white halls. He had been afforded a room with a hot copper tub filled with water infused with herbs. It was a great reprieve from riding, but he couldn't help but focus on the task at hand. Lord Wyman had made a point to mention the benefit of White Harbor. House Manderly wanted something out of this deal or else they'd be stingy on the Starks utilizing their source of income.

A male servant came in to deliver his belongings from his saddlebags, which also had a fresh pair of clothing. After dwelling, he stepped out of the tub to replace his nakedness with a dark ensemble of leather and fur. He had no need for gay colors of exuberant displays of wealth like gemstones or gold. He preferred to wear the mundane. Intricate attire was reserved for women, not for men. His hair was still damp when he buckled his sword belt and stepped outside the chambers. All of this white was accompanied by bright teal and greens and very nearly gave him a headache.

He found one of Lord Manderly's household and caught them before they could scurry away from them. "Where are the rest of my party staying?" he asked the man.

"Below, these quarters are reserved for nobles. I can show you there if you'd prefer, my lord," the servant offered.

"Very well," Robb agreed before following him down a set of stairs and into halls that had less regality.

He was deposited in front of one wooden door. Whose, he did not know. And so Robb knocked on it, wondering if he was at Hullen or Alebelly, who appeared to have the most commanding aura between the two of them. When the door cracked open, he was not greeted by one of his men, but Alyra who was glancing warily between the crack.

"Oh, my lord," she greeted, going to give a short bow, and knocking her head against the half-open door frame instead. Her cheeks flushed as she reached for her head.

Robb had not thought that Alyra had packed a dress to dine with Lord Manderly, but he should have assumed so. The pale seafoam silk hugged her petite frame and billowed off of her like iridescent wings. Her long hair was down and softly wafted down in thick waves to her waist. When Robb had first espied her with her hair down, this was the sort of attire he had imagined would suit her; soft, flowing, elegant, and shimmering. It was almost as if the mermaid statues had been created in her likeness.

A smile cracked on his face from her clumsiness and she opened the door more. "Are you alright, my lady?" He hadn't meant to call her that, but it only felt natural given how she was dressed.

"Alyra," she reminded him.

"You look like a proper lady tonight," he informed her.

"Thank you, my lord. Perhaps one of the few rare occurrences," she jested, one of the few rare times that the woman dared to reveal her personality. "Is it time for dinner, already?"

"I don't believe so, I just went looking for everyone and ended up here."

"I believe the others are in the rooms adjacent to mine if you were looking for someone in specific, my lord," she gestured to the additional doors in the hallway.

"Do you mind if I speak with you for a bit?" Robb suggested.

Alyra smoothed the skirts nervously and nodded. "Of course, my lord," she moved out of the doorway to allow him entrance. There was a pair of chairs in front of the hearth beside the small wooden tub that had been used to freshen up. The room was immaculate, almost as if Alyra hadn't even breathed on anything yet. She followed him, waiting for some sort of reaction.

Robb took one of the plush chairs in front of the fire and Alyra accepted the other once he had sat. "Maester Lewin had good things to say about you, Alyra. I don't know much about your heritage or background other that you are from Lys. You speak Valyrian?"

Alyra nodded. "Yes, I speak High Valyrian. The other dialects are not lost on me and I know that the one of the Pentoshi use is a very… bastardized form. I have no doubt that I'll be able to decipher."

"How old were you when you left Lys? You came to Winterfell when you were…"

"Thirteen," she paused to look out into the fire roaring in the hearth. "I came to Westeros when I was very young. I barely recall what it was like in Lys. There are small fragments of memories such as granite, gemstones, the scent of incense and perfume, laughter, ornate pillows… A house by the sea." A dreamy expression came over her face, which she quickly shook away. "We moved here and bought a farm."

"A farm? Do your parents still work the farm?" He said the wrong thing, because Alyra flinched at his words.

"No, they passed when I was eight. My brother looked after me for the time following. Then, when he was old enough, he enlisted as a soldier for Lord Karstark."

"And does he still work for Lord Karstark?"

"I believe so. I have not seen him in many years. Not since I came to Winterfell."

"Why not? You would be given leave to visit him if you pleased," Robb informed her.

"It's… complicated," she pursed her lips, renouncing the subject as her eyes set on the ground.

"Life as a farm girl is more complicated than that of a lord?" Robb mused with a small smile.

"Perhaps more than you can fathom, my lord," she returned a demure smile, causing Robb's heart to flutter.

"Hm, perhaps. I try to empathize with the smallfolk as much as I can, but alas, I still grew up a privileged life."

"Don't try and sound so sorrowful about it, my lord. Big strong walls like Winterfell solve the problems that us smallfolk have out in the woods," Alyra retorted. This was the most he'd ever gotten out of her. Usually it was messages being delivered or simple pleasantries. He'd never gotten the time to sit down and really speak with her. Perhaps this was why Sansa had been so taken with her, the woman was lighthearted and polite, features that Sansa had been trying to emulate. But there was a realism about her, no dreaminess or naiveness that his sister possessed.

"You sound like a woman who has been through her fair share of ordeals," Robb remarked, not meaning for it to be a joke, but the words lilted out of his mouth.

Her smooth and sweet expression dissolved, replaced with a hard one. "I have," she agreed darkly.

Before Robb could pursue her answer, there was a knock on the door, a servant having come to retrieve the Stark ensemble. Feeling obligated and also because he wanted to, he offered Alyra his arm. She was tentative, hesitating, as if the honor should not be hers. "I insist," Robb said, before she finally allowed herself to touch him.

They were escorted to the Merman's Court, which almost appeared as if they had stepped beneath the sea. Creatures were painted on the pale walls; sharks, eels, fish, and dolphins. On the ground were crabs and seaweed, from the rafters hung nets, and on the far end of the hall was an old cog raging against a storm, of which beneath was a great leviathan and kraken battling one another. Blue was the mood of this room and Robb's eyes darted to the shoal of herring and cod painted beneath an archway. There was so much going on that he very nearly was distracted by it all.

Alyra was about to part ways with him before he went to the head table before Lord Wyman shook his head. "My lady, I have put an additional seat for you here. Please, join us," he implored, flanked by his two sons, Wylis and Wendel. Wylis's wife and daughters also flanked him, all adorned in the same pale and misty gowns of the same fashion of what Alyra donned. Only, the Manderly gowns also were equipped with winking gemstones. A plethora of food was laid out in front of them, most consisting of fish.

Robb had tried fish before, but had mostly been secluded to trout and salmon. A queer array was in front of him, many of which he could not identify, but he went with what smelled and looked nicest. Lord Wyman had three lamprey pies sat before him and he looked impartial to sharing. His eyes surveyed his granddaughters, one of which had green hair. Her mother was absolutely dismayed by it, reminding Robb of his own mother. Wylla was rather proud of it, giving her mother contemptuous looks every so often.

"So Lord Robb," Wyman began between loud mouthfuls of pie. "Touching back on the subject earlier in the day. If the dealings with the Pentoshi go well, what benefits may the Manderlys expect?"

Robb had considered much, but he hadn't thought that Wyman would want a slice of the pie for simply owning the port that he wanted to utilize. He set his goblet down, buying himself time enough to contemplate an answer.

"My lord, the influx of Free City traders would be among one of the bonuses. While they may come here to export our furs, they will bring other valuables to trade. From the lovely castle here, I see that the Manderlys possess a great deal of marble and across the Narrow Sea the stone is coveted as well. What doors we may open with the Pentoshi with furs could also be strengthened by opening a market for marble. I know in Lys they love to hew statues of it and would pay quite a bit of gold for it," Alyra had spoked up in his stead, giving Wyman was a more than suitable answer.

"But if I wished to trade marble, I could do that on my own," Wyman told her cheerfully.

"You could, my lord. That is why Lord Robb and I were discussing what other benefits your house could reap for utilization of your port," her lavender eyes swept over to him, trying to hand him the baton.

Robb was good at planning, but the tables had been turned on him. "Yes, if you do not mind sharing that information with them Alyra."

Alyra gave him a blank look before nodding slowly. "The plan was to create routes across the eastern portion of the north. We need a bond with Karhold and their ports. I doubt even Braavos would be willing to constantly sail that far north to deliver wares or pick them up. With the forest thick around Karhold, it makes more sense for the wares to be sailed here and exported. Aside from the additional commerce and activity this will create for White Harbor, there has been consideration in lowering taxes for the lords who comply and contribute to the effort of establishing strong trade. Of course, that entails better roads between Winterfell and Karhold before winter is in full swing. Eventually, we can branch out into the other reaches of the north, but we came here first Lord Wyman, because of your experience and position both in port and to Winterfell."

Lord Wyman sucked on his sausage fingers and leaned back in his throne like seat, considering what he had just heard. "A cut in taxes _and _an increase in commerce? That is a generous compromise indeed."

"The proceeds of the fur trade are to be split between Winterfell and Karhold accordingly. Seeing as most of the wares will be coming from the wolfswood and will be processed in Winterfell, by right they are our amenities. For the use of your port, I would be more than willing to greatly reduce taxes if you were willing to help repair the roads between here and Winterfell," Robb picked up where she left off, balancing on the idea of cutting taxes for the Manderlys. If that would get him the port he desired, he was willing to trade it, seeing that they would make much more coin on fur.

"Of course, of course. The proceeds of your wares is yours to keep, my lord," Wyman smiled. "But enough of business for now. I don't want to spoil my appetite. Lady Alyra would you like some oysters? The smallfolk in the city say that raw oysters preserve youth." He picked up a plate filled with shucked oysters on the halfshell. They were slimy looking, but Alyra graciously accepted them.

"Thank you my lord, you have been most kind to me," Alyra took and oyster and took one back, the shell touching her pale lips before the mucus like shellfish disappeared. She chased it with a sip of wine and managed an impressive reaction, almost flawless despite the quick shiver that came over her.

"You are a trusted confidant of Lord Robb. I do hope you are comfortable while you are here," Wyman insisted.

Normal conversation picked up after that and Robb was able to speak to Wylis about how Winterfell was preparing for the winter. Even though summer was still in full swing, many northern houses were daunted by what was going to seem like an eternal winter. The saying always went that a long summer was followed by an even longer winter. Most of Robb's life had been summer, he couldn't really recall the last winter. How many of his years would pass as winter vs the summer of his youth? He didn't fancy dwelling on it, but he had to, lest he procrastinated and lost even more of the previous time he needed to make certain his people would survive.

He noticed that Wendel Manderly kept trying to keep Alyra's attention. He had a round moon face and a mustache that reminded him of walrus tusks. Wendel wasn't the only that was entranced by the Lyseni beauty, but he was the most successful as keeping her attention as she politely entertained his conversation. In spite of himself, he felt a bit jealous of all the attention she received. Not because he was there on business, but rather due to the fact that she didn't turn him down. Why would she? It was not her place to, but he forgot that seeing how well spoken and comely she was.

At the end of the festivities, Robb felt the week's worth of travel final wash over him and he longed for the soft feather bed he had been given. He saw Alyra back to her room, his face heated by the few cups of wine he had enjoyed over dinner.

"Sleep well, I will need your sharpest wit for tomorrow afternoon," Robb told her as he deposited her at her room. He took her hand and pressed his lips to back of it, despite how inappropriate it might have been. Part of him didn't believe she was base borne, not from her schooling and disposition. He _yearned _for it to not be true, as if there might be some small hope that he could keep the Lysene beauty for himself.

"Thank you my lord. Remember to take your sword belt off," she mused, poking fun at how much he had drank over the longer meal. "Good night."

Robb lingered for a moment, pressing his head to door as he tried to sort his feelings out. With a long sigh, he brought himself back up the stairs and to his chambers. Again, he dreamed of the maiden made of moonlight.

* * *

"May we have a moment to go over the logistics?" Alyra raised her voice as the document has been slid over to them. A detailed what the prices of each fur bundle would be worth, all of which were numbers that seemed to low in Robb's opinion. Certainly, it was a greater than they would go locally, but he would have thought that there would have been more worth across the Narrow Sea where these animals did not live.

Brachos Eranios was the most brightly colored man that Robb had ever met. He wore silks of bright gold, teal, and crimson interlaced with trinkets, baubles, and jewelry. His hair was dyed a bright blue, his long beard forked and fastened with engraved golden beads. Beside him was a less queer companion dressed in a muted steel grey ensemble.

"Of course," Gyllero Paenel bid as he and his benefactor rose to leave Robb and Alyra alone in the world.

Once the door had clicked shut Robb turned to her, arching a brow curiously over why she had wanted them out. She slid the parchment over and was inspecting the numbers, frowning. "What is it?"

"They're trying to gouge you for prices. The furs would sell for tenfold what they want to buy them for. They need to make a profit, but they're relying on your lack of knowledge, if you do pardon me for saying so, my lord," she drew a blank piece of parchment over and began scrawling new numbers that were three times that of what had been offered.

"Where did you learn prices for furs in Pentos?" Robb inquired seriously.

"I didn't, they said it," she said plainly, causing his brows to furrow. "Brachos can speak Westerosi. He's not using Gyllero to translate, it's a ploy so he can speak down to you without you even realizing it. Gyllero is his partner, not subordinate. He's fond of the idea and coin monitored fur trade will bring, but he thinks you a fool my lord."

Robb frowned, glad he had heeded Maester Lewin's suggestion of bringing Alyra. "What would be a suitable counter offer?"

Alyra finished writing on the parchment and slid over the revised list. "Mink and rabbit fur is the most common, but also the highest desired. Bear fur, while more difficult to acquire would not be something commonly want. Many might like a scarf of fox or wolf, but again the main market is in the most plush fur. We also don't want to hunt the entire north's ecosystem into failure right before winter, which can be out rebuttal for higher prices," she reached up and began untying the bonnet she had donned that day, letting down her pale hair. "If they don't wish to pay in coin, gemstones, spices, silks, and wines are often what they choose to use instead. All of which can be sold further south."

Robb nodded, the prices she had listed were more than he could have hoped the furs to go for and to think that they would be sold for even more in the Free Cities made his head hurt. "Very well, let's finish this ordeal."

Alyra pushed back her chair and swept over to the door, opening it and calling for the Pentoshi merchants to enter. Gyllero was startled by the woman holding the door open, his eyes sweeping over her nervously as she flashed a kind smile. After taking their seats again, Robb lifted the new piece of parchment.

"After some consideration with my trusted advisor, we have created a counter offer for the furs," Robb offered it to Gyllero, Brachos glancing over his shoulder, twirling his mustache and glancing between the sheet and Alyra who sat as perfect as a painting, still, serene, and smiling. He muttered something in Gyllero's ear and Alyra stood up.

"Mundagon udra ñuha aeksio, ydragon ia engos kosti mirre shifang," Alyra placed her palms on the table and leaned forward, her hair scattering around her as Brachos gave her a scathing glare.

"I was only remarking of what a beautiful and clever advisor Lord Robb Stark possesses. I wonder, how did he obtain a lady of Old Valyria?" Brachos had a thick accent, but he spoke Westerosi as cleanly as Alyra had promised.

"How I came into his service is no business of yours. We are here to discuss trade, unless you would prefer we turn to Braavos with our interest," she retorted coarsely, sitting back in her seat.

"We shant have to do that... These prices..." Brachos let out a long and dramatic sigh, waving his hand imploringly.

"Are more than fair. We are willing to trade as well," Robb intercepted.

"We do have to make a profit off of these furs-"

"Which is why we adjusted the prices of those that will sell better and others that will prove more of a challenge to sell. As Lady Alyra said, we can take our business elsewhere," Robb buckled himself in, knowing he would not move now that Brachos was trying to deflect and drive the prices down. He would might have reacted differently if the prices were too high, but the pulling of his mustache and frowning led Robb to believe that he was considering his options. Consumed by greed, the merchant let out a soft, good natured laugh.

"Many of my wares I sell are silks from Myr and Lys, I have spices from Pentos I could acquire..." Brachos drawled, trying to intercept the idea of paying in strictly coin.

Robb glanced to Alyra, who nodded slowly. "I am willing to take half of the price of the furs in trade value, be that silks, brocade, or spices," he accepted. They were luxuries that lords and ladies would want across Westeros. He could sell them and make a profit off of that as well.

Brachos brightened and nodded eagerly. "Then I believe, Lord Stark, this is the beginning of an arrangement as beautiful as your advisor. Let us complete the paperwork," he shoved the parchment over to Gyllero who began writing the documents afresh. Once he had completed the revisions, stating the prices that Robb wanted in tandem with the trade of high quality resources from the Free Cities as half of the acceptable payment.

Robb and Alyra scrutinized the work before he signed off on it. One copy was for Robb to keep, another for Brachos, and one for Lord Wyman to have handy if the merchants tried to shortchange them when the Starks were paid in White Harbor. When the arrangements had been completed, Robb sat with Alyra, his face flushed as he felt a surge of adrenaline pumping through him over the new deal he had secured for the north.

His eyes listed over to Alyra who was keeping a tidy book of what was on the contract, recording the details. Before too long, she sat erect and turned her violet eyes to him. "This is going to be quite the undertaking, my lord," she warned him. "You can hire those you believe responsible enough to handle this, including Lord Wyman and his sailors, but everything comes at a price. Silks are commodities that most northerners, noble or common, cannot afford."

"My intention is to sell it south, utilizing Wyman's galleys for trade. He'll want compensation, which I would be willing to part with. And I hope that eventually, the idea of buying Myrish silks will not be so far off for northern lords and ladies," he was ensnared by her eyes, feeling his heart quicken slightly. "I appreciate your counsel today, Alrya."

"It is my duty, my lord," she told him honestly. "I apologize if I came by as... blunt. I know it is not my place, but I did not wish to see you misled."

"No," Robb shook his head and reached over to touch her pale hand. "I want you to be honest with me, it's quite refreshing actually. I want you to be my lead advisor in these trade dealings. You're organized, intelligent, and knowledgeable. I know it may be a tall order-"

"I accept," Alyra said swiftly and sternly, her eyes boring into his. "It would be my honor to work in your service and put my skills to use."

"Good," Robb squeezed her hand and then released it, still feeling the head of her skin against his. "You will be paid accordingly, since it is a great responsibility. Your quarters shall be upgraded, as that befitting a Mistress of Coin and Trade."

Alyra's brows pulled together at this. "My lord, that is too generous off an offer."

Robb laughed and helped her to her feet. Was he promoting Alyra because he knew she had a keen mind or because he simply wanted to keep her by his side? Perhaps both. He enjoyed the company of the Lysene maid, but he also knew that she was a knife he would do better to wield than allow her to simply work as a servant. She had proven her value in the past two days.

"The offer befits the duties, Lady Alyra. I cannot bequeath you lands, but I can give you chambers in the Great Keep and an office to work continue establishing trade. And trust me, you shall resent me for all the work I have just dumped on you," Robb mused, taking her arm and leading her to the door. "From henceforth, as my Mistress of Coin, you are Lady Alyra. The title befits the station."

There was a glimmer in her jewel like eyes and she cast them away, almost as if Robb had gifted her with the world. "T-thank you," she stammered, one of the few times she lost her composure. "You don't realize what an honor this is for someone of my birth, my lord."

"Lord Robb or just Robb will do... We will be working together quite a bit now," he gave her a kind pat on the arm and when she glanced up again, her fair face was molted in sweet happiness, the corners of her eyes tinged with tears. He may not have thought much of it, but Alyra was a simple farm girl who moved from Lys, elevated to that of a lady. Even if she had no sigil or true house, this was more than most smallfolk could even dream of. "And I would prefer if you did not wear those anymore," he gestured to her bonnet clutched in her opposite hand. "The people of Winterfell know you and you've lived the majority of your life in the north. You are one of us."


	5. Alyra III

A/N: The plot in this story is in the same universe of my other fanfiction. Theon Greyjoy is currently in King's Landing with his betrothed.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

* * *

_Alyra_

Never in her wildest dreams had she fathomed rising from the ashes of her farm house. She would have been contented by just working in Winterfell the rest of her life, maybe marrying one of the other hardworking servants. Alyra didn't believe her intelligence would warrant her a position as an advisor to Robb Stark. In her years there, her nose had been pressed in the many books that Maester Lewin had. She read about nearly anything she could get her hands on in her spare time, be it history of Westeros and kings of old or the evolution of slavery in the Free Cities. She'd read all the books on Valyria that Winterfell had several times over, even the ones that were written in High Valyrian. There were so many treasures hiding in the library and no one ever came to bite from the succulent apple. No one else aside from Maester Lewin held as much reverence in the dusty old pages as she did.

Now, she couldn't spend that much time in the library as she used to. Being a servant had been so simple, you would clean and see to your charge, held them dress, and meet their whims. With her new position she had to sort through raven messages and delegate, setting aside decisions she had to go to Robb with. She could make her own, with the guidelines that Robb had laid down, but there were some that needed his permission for. Alyra didn't want to harry him too much, he had been swamped with requests as the roads between White Harbor, Karhold, and Winterfell were under construction. Each day hunters would arrive with bolts of fur that needed to be processed, and the tannery had been expanded so that they could accommodate the furs and leathers they were receiving.

She kept the books and wrote the letters for ravens with directions in Robb's stead. If there was an issue with coin, she would record it and make certain there was profitable turnover. Bartering was another trade she had to touch upon yet again, reminded of her years in the village when she was trade and haggle for better prices. Only now, Alyra was working with an immense scale. She savored the challenge, the first real chance she had to prove herself as more than just a handmaiden.

She turned the seal over in her hand, melting a pale lilac wax over the heat of the nearby candle. A few droplets splattered on the copper holder before she dribbled it over the newest letter that was to be sent to Lord Wyman. With the first leg of their journey creating better roads and moving the wares to his port, soon they would be paid for the first cycle shipped out to Pentos. Her list described the amount of resources that would be transported and what the agreed upon coin exchange was for the value of said goods.

She stamped it, engraving the wax with a slender tower with a dragon coiled around it, wings spread open near the cap of the spire and head tilted up toward the heavens. If her family ever belong among the Lys nobility, she fancied the Taennaris would not mind the heraldry she chose. While she had no lands or claim, she had been given an honorary title for her work, all in name, but nothing in substance. Fortunately, no one around her seemed dismayed by her elevation in position. Some hadn't even recognized her once she wore her hair down.

Catelyn Stark had vanished when they returned to Winterfell along with Rodrik Cassel. From what Lewin explained, in the time they had been gone, there had been an assassination attempt on Bran and the library tower had been set aflame to cause a diversion. Had it not been for Summer and Catelyn, the attempt may have been successful. She had gone to King's Landing to speak with Lord Eddard, leaving Bran in his bed, and Rickon to cause as much havoc as possible with Shaggy Dog.

A knock came from the door and she glanced up to see that Poxy Tym was standing in the frame. "Lady Alyra... It's Lord Rickon again," the man seemed abashed that he had to resort to requesting her help.

She gave a gentle smile and picked up the note, sliding it into her pocket before she swept after him, securing the door to her office with key. "What has he gotten into now?" Alyra asked.

"It's that wolf of his, worst of the lot. He's got it running amok in the yard, nipping at the heels of the hunters bringing their wares in. I swear, one of them is going to put a crossbow bolt in that blasted mutt," Poxy Tym muttered, leading her down the stairs and out into the brisk summer air. The sun was out and in its gaze, there was a bit more warmth in the air than usual. Immediately, Alyra noticed of what Poxy Tym was referencing to.

Rickon was standing on a haybale and giggling profusely as Shaggy Dog bolted around the courtyard. By now the direwolves were not pups, larger than normal wolves, and still growing. The wagons filled with furs were bordered by men who were clenching their weapons, daring the direwolf to do more than snarl and nip at the air in front of them.

"Go fetch Lord Robb if I cannot get Rickon to come around," Alyra directed before hiking her skirts and hurrying over to where Rickon was. Despite how busy she was, she took up looking after the child since his mother had left. Robb had too many meetings to worry about his youngest brother and was infuriated that Catelyn had departed while he was out of Winterfell, leaving both of his brothers without a mother. "Rickon, Rickon!" she called as she approached him.

Rickon turned his Tully-blue eyes to gaze at her, a frown splitting across his face as she met him. "Look Lyra, Shaggy Dog is playing with the visitors!" he pointed out at the wolf, but he seemed to have an idea that what Shaggy Dog was doing was not very nice.

"Do you think you could call him back? Those men need to work. They're doing work for your brother and Shaggy Dog is in their way," she implored, trying to reason with the child.

Rickon gave her a petulant look and crossed his arms. "But I want to play. Bran is still in bed, mother is gone, and Robb won't see me," he huffed, stamping his foot.

"I could find someone to play with you Rickon-"

"I want... I want Robb!" Rickon stamped his foot, eyes watering as he was teetering on the edge of a tantrum. After a moment of sniffling he glanced up at her. "Or maybe you can play with me?"

Alyra had too much on her plate to spend it with Rickon. "Call Shaggy Dog back first and we'll talk," she bartered.

Rickon nodded. "Shaggy! Shaggy Dog!" he called, the wolf snapping its dark head up, halting its snarling. It then began trotting toward them. "Now can we play?"

"Perhaps for a little bit, I have some books in my office, maybe we could-"

"I don't want to read!" Rickon screeched. "I want to play-"

"Rickon please," Alyra begged, reaching forward to touch his arm to try and calm him. That was a mistake.

Sensing his master's distress, Shaggy Dog lunged forward faster than her eyes could move. Pain seared up her arm as his teeth took her by the forearm and held it in a vise like grip. Alyra was so stunned that she barely cried out, watching as blood began seeping through the sleeve of her dress. Rickon gaped at his wolf, unable to speak as he realized what had happened.

"S-Shaggy Dog! Shaggy Dog stop!" Rickon shouted, tears welling in his eyes.

"What's going on here?" Robb's voice cut through the air just as Shaggy Dog released her.

"S-Shaggy Dog bit her," Rickon muttered as his wolf ducked behind him, no guilt on the creature's face.

Robb stepped around to see Alyra standing, still in a bit of shock from the whole ordeal. "Rickon he's going to be put in a kennel. Between bothering the men and biting- Lady Alyra are you alright?"

Alyra swallowed and pulled by the sleeve sticky with blood. The direwolf's teeth had punctured her skin, leaving deep, fang sized holes in her pale skin. "I-"

"You need to see Lewin immediately," Robb commented gravely. "Grey Wind, stay with Rickon until I return. Do not let Shaggy Dog go anywhere," he directed his own direwolf, a much more obedient creature. The wolf bowed its head and stood in front of Rickon, leering at his brother who had been the source of this mess.

Robb placed his hand at the small of her back and gripped her wrist, hurrying her through the courtyard away from all of the spectators. She felt a bit lightheaded as they began ascending to stairs to Lewin's turret and felt strong hands grip around her, helping lift her up the stone steps. The office belonging to Lewin was cluttered with books, artifacts, and herbs.

Robb didn't bother knocking, simply opening the door, startling Lewin who was seated by his desk, scrutinizing a book. When the maester glanced up he gasped. "Which wolf did this?" but he didn't have to spend much time guessing. Only three remained in Winterfell and Summer always stayed with Bran.

"Shaggy Dog," Robb growled as he helped Alyra sit down. By then she was feeling nauseous, clammy, and a bit ill.

"Quickly, grab the wine I have over there and put it in the empty cauldron. A wolf's bite is likely to get infected unless we sterilize it," Lewin told Robb as he came over to begin sopping off the blood that had run down and over her fingers. "Alyra, how are you feeling my dear?"

"Light headed, sick..." she muttered.

"That would be from the shock," Lewin muttered, cleaning her wounds. "They are deep, but once purified and bound, you shall make a full recovery. Robb?"

Alyra managed to look up and glance over at Robb. He was hunched over the cauldron, having emptied the bottle. He lifted it by the handle once it began smoking and stepped over. His handsome face was contorted in worry as he came over. Lewin tugged over a basin to put beneath her arm to catch the boiled wine.

"This is going to hurt," Lewin warned.

Alyra nodded and as he poured it over her flesh, she winced from the wine in her wound, but the heat did not bother her.

"She must still be in shock, I've never seen a man or woman who has not been-" Lewin was wiping her arm clean of the wound when he noticed that her skin had not been burned or red from the heat. He glanced up at Alyra in astonishment.

"Not what?" Robb pressed.

"Not cried out from having boiling wine poured over them," Lewin finished.

"I have a high pain tolerance," Alyra jested weakly.

Lewin began smearing a poultice over her wound and bound it tightly. He did not share with Robb the information he had gleaned from trying to sterilize the injury. The maester stood over his desk preparing a vial before he turned back to Robb, who was still standing over her.

"I've prepared some milk of the poppy. She's lost a bit of blood and will need rest. The drought is to help with the pain and ease her to sleep," Maester Lewin explained, handing it to Robb.

"Very well, I'll see her back to her chambers," Robb tucked the vial away and helped her to her feet. She was still reeling, but he steadied her and allowed her to lean on him for support. With each step, Alyra's breath seemed to reverberate in her skull.

She barely noticed that they had crossed Winterfell and made it to the Great Keep. Realizing they were at her door, she fished in her pocket for the key, fumbling it clumsily. Robb caught her hand, drawing her gaze up to him before he unlocked the door and helped her in.

"Don't be too hard on Rickon," Alyra requested as she was set on her bed. "It was my fault, I shouldn't have-"

"It's not your fault that his direwolf is raving mad and ill tempered," Robb told her sternly, pulling up a seat nearby, his face lined with concern, hinted with a bit of frustration.

"Rickon was upset and I tried to calm him down put touching his shoulder. I should have realized what it would seem like to his wolf," Alyra argued.

"Grey Wind would not have done that," Robb retorted stubbornly.

"Grey Wind was trained by an adult. Rickon is just a boy. It's fine."

"It's not fine, he could have taken your arm off if he wanted. Rickon cannot throw tantrums to prove a point. I'll speak with him after this."

Alyra sighed, knowing that her words were going to fall on deaf ears. Robb could be like this at times, fastly stubborn and unwilling to budge on the matter. She had found ways of coaxing him, but other subjects it was as if she were trying to move a mountain with her bare hands. "He just misses you. With Bran unconscious and your mother gone..."

A bit of silence hung in the air and Robb admitted, "I know."

"I hope you don't mind me shirking my duties for a day, I'd return but..." she tried to break the silence with a trembling smile.

"I'm not worried about your work," Robb scowled before realizing that she had been joking. "You've been taking on a lot of additional duties since assuming your post. I can manage while you heal."

"Of course you can, my lord," she smirked, wondering how he would be able to sift through all of her documents. She kept all of her belongings organized meticulously, but there was no way for him to know all the exchanges that were occurring. "Oh, before I forget, I need this sent to White Harbor," reaching into her pocket she handed him the small note she had sealed.

"Still thinking about work..." he sighed, shaking his head at her as he accepted the note.

"There's a lot to consider. We can't really afford for me to be out of commission while the operations are just beginning," she fretted.

"Alyra," Robb pressed sternly. "I will take care of it."

Sinking back against her pillows she glanced at the ceiling, cradling her aching arm. She appreciated his concern, but this might set them back. She cursed herself for having gotten between Shaggy Dog and Rickon.

"Where did you get this?" Robb asked her, gesturing to the chest on her nightstand.

"It's a family heirloom," she told him offhandedly.

"The family heirloom of a farmer's daughter?" Robb arched a brow at her as if it were farfetched.

Perhaps it was, the chest was made of dragon glass, sealed with a lock that was smote into the stone. Robb reached forward and traced the outside of the lock, causing the most troubling thing to happen. The chest shuddered and he snapped his hand back, Alyra's eyes widening. In all of her life, she had never seen the chest open, but her father's words echoed in her head.

"The chest will open when the final dragons awaken," Alyra muttered.

"What?" Robb muttered as the chest popped up, the heavy top thudding on the wood. Within was a beautiful iridescent egg, scaled and shimmered like a butterfly's wing. "Is that what I think it is?"

"A dragon's egg?" she pushed herself up off the bed and stood, unsteady on her feet. With her good arm she touched the egg, startled to find that it was warm to the touch.

"Look at this... there's an engraving on the lid of the chest," Robb lifted the heavy top, but it was scrawled in Valyrian. "What does it say?"

Her eyes scanned the words first, mouth drying and head becoming scattered. She tried to focus her vision, her breath quickening as she reread the epitaph over and over again.

"Alyra?" Robb glanced over at her.

She staggered, astounded by the words, all of her brother's posturing and believing that they were once of noble blood rushing to her head. Alyra had accepted what they were and she'd carved a path for herself by hard work. Robb grabbed her before she could faint, quaking as she was overcome by confusion and terror. He sat her back on the bed, kneeling in front of her so that he could look at her in the eye.

"What did it say?"

"Therein lies the last egg of the Daeragel line, whose possession is bestowed upon the dragonlords of House Taennaris. With this chest, the responsibility of its wellbeing are bequeathed upon them. Only when the Great Fire rekindles with dragons fly again and not before. This chest shall only open when the final dragons awake."

Robb turned back to look at the egg. "Dragonlords... Your family is of Old Valyria and were dragonlords."

"What wealth we had is gone, but all that remains if our last heirloom. I didn't think... Didn't know what was inside of it," she insisted as he stood up to look at the egg in the chest.

"Do you think it's still alive? The Doom of Valyria was hundreds of years ago. It could be nothing more than just a rock now," he speculated, reaching forward to touch it. He gasped in pain after touching it, recoiling from the egg.

Steeling herself, she stood again and seized the egg, only warmth filling her palms. Robb marveled at her and how her hands did not sear from the touch of the egg. "I believe it is."

"How are you..."

"If I truly am of the Old Blood of Valyria, then I have dragon blood..." she paused, edging back to the bed with the egg. She placed it on her lap, tracing her fingers over the grooves and webbing beneath. "I... My home burned to the ground some 6 years ago. I went inside to retrieve this chest. Through the flames, the embers, the smoke. I stepped out unscathed aside from my clothing and hair being smote off. I don't recall one time when I've been burned-"

"And when Lewin poured the bowling wine over the wound you did not scream," Robb realized. "What does this mean? Why has the chest opened at this point in time?"

"I don't know, but I fear for what it means. Perhaps the egg will hatch, perhaps it will not. We cannot know for certain. However, it was placed in my care as a Taennaris," she held it close, overwhelmed by a great maternal feeling.

Robb nodded and pursed his lips. "I always knew you weren't just a farmer's daughter," he mused, standing up and sitting beside her. "You aren't Lyseni, you're Valyrian," he reached forward and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "True Valyrian, just like the Targaryens. As you said, the Blood of the Dragon, Unburnt..." he took her injured hand in his. "I swear, whatever becomes of this egg, I will protect you. Even if it's just a strange, magical stone."

"Long removed. Our last testament to who we were lays engraved in a chest that few people can read in the north," she reminded him delicately. "Not to mention that if King Robert hears about this it may cause your family trouble. Targaryen or not, I don't doubt he'll take one look at me and decide my fate."

"You're not a Targaryen, their crimes are not yours," Robb insisted, his grip tightening on hers.

"I doubt he or many will see it like that. I've been told many times before that we look like Targaryens. One man was even going to kill me and bring my head to King Robert pretending that I was Daenerys Targaryen," she shuddered thinking back to that fateful day that had propelled her toward Winterfell. Exhaustion was creeping over her, but she clutched the egg to her abdomen as if it were a babe in her belly.

Robb noticed that she was still affected by her wound. He brushed by her hair away, his touch burning against her flesh as he moved it away. Her breath quickened slightly, overwhelmed by what was in the chest and his gestures. He had always been kind to her, confided in her, trusted her. Alyra had never thought above her station, she was still a servant in spite of her name. Robb Stark had made her and he could take it away. He was a good man, a man that she didn't deserve. Was he using her lineage as an excuse? A chance that he might be able to grow closer than lord and advisor?

"You're a bit warm," he commented, drawing the vial out of his cloak. "You should get some rest."

Alyra nodded slowly, exhaling a soft breath. He stood up, allowing her to lay out, egg tucked close beside her. Robb offered her the milk of the poppy and set the key to her room on her nightstand. After reclining, she took the sweet potion down and sighed deeply. "Robb…" she said, the drug already beginning to kick in as her eyelids sagged "The dragon egg…"

"I won't tell anyone," he promised, bending down over her and pressing his lips to her hot brow. "If you need anything, summon me."

"You'll be too busy…" she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.


	6. Robb II

A/N: The timeline is altered slightly with the sequence of events as well as the time that was spent in King's Landing. This chapter also contains sexual content.

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

* * *

_Robb_

Despite everything that Robb was dealing with, he found time to stress out over a woman that he thought he'd have no chance in courting. He might have elevated Alyra, but he wasn't Lord Stark yet. He may have had the power to mold the north, but he couldn't hand away land and give her true nobility. At least, not until he had seen what was in the chest. He'd convinced Alyra to allow Maester Lewin to take make a copy and translate it himself. Robb trusted her reading, but he needed a second pair of eyes to verify. Lewin had admitted that he had been leery when she had not been scalded by the boiling wine, but was only further confirmed by the epitaph.

"A broken house, one that Westeros shall care little for, even if she is the Blood of a Dragon," Lewin had told him. Robb, as promised, had not betrayed that Alyra had a dragon egg. Alive or dead, she kept it with her at all times. She recovered swiftly, insisting on returning to work with her arm still bandaged. Even if he had wished she would rest, he was glad to have her sifting through the requests and catching back up on the books. When he had espied the neatly arranged stacks he was very nearly overwhelmed. He might have made the final decisions and been the face for the operation, but Alyra was the one who was running the show. Her numbers were easy to follow, but the correspondence she kept had him fumbling in his letters out to his bannermen.

With all of the stress of Winterfell on his shoulders, his brother Bran had finally woken to discover that he had no feeling in his legs. Hodor carried him around, but Robb couldn't help but feel for his brother. Bran had always wanted to be a knight and now he'd never get the chance. Catelyn had believed the Lannisters were to thank for that, but instead of returning to Winterfell, she'd taken the Imp hostage. Her decision made trade difficult with the south, but the curveball did not put a damper in their work. Dorne would accept their wares and so they had to employ ships that would sail that far south, which cost money. Coin had a slower turnover, but the result always resulted in gold from Dorne.

Robb had spent coin to repair parts of Winterfell, including the Broken Tower, where he moved Alyra's operations. She had outgrown her current office and her new solar was position at the top of the tower where she could overlook all of Winterfell and the nearby Lich Yard. He couldn't help his affections and allure toward the woman. He had the silks from Myr turned into gowns for her, the brocade from Pentos as well. He wished his sisters were in Winterfell so that he could also shower them the fruits of his labor. He didn't have a taste for the rich materials himself, but he thought they were befitting of Alyra.

While he prospered, the situation in King's Landing seemed to be boiling over. He worried about his father on top of everything else he had to deal with. Ever since his mother had taken custody of Tyrion Lannister, his father's position had been compromised. With the north flourishing in a golden age, those that were south of the Twins were suffering. He was prepared to call the banners if it came to that, but he prayed that his father could salvage the situation. _He doesn't know. Everything to him is black or white, he does not see the grey in between, _he thought, glancing up at the heart tree, sighing.

In his time working on the north alongside of Alyra, he had grown exponentially. Now, he understood that people only did favors when it benefit them. In his father's world, a bannerman would answer because it was his duty. He might have lived by honor and truths, but bartering and charisma were just as important. Even if Robb might have had trouble being accommodating with everyone, Alyra was steering him in the right direction or making up for him. Robb knew now that Lord Wyman may not have helped him had he not cut taxes. Or if he had, the smoothness of the operations would have been compromised, balancing on the edge of a blade. He implored his father, at the suggestion of Alyra, to send Sansa and Arya back north before the situation boiled over.

"Lord Robb," the familiar voice made him lift his head from where he had bowed it. He glanced back to see Alyra standing on the other side of the pool, wearing a structured gown of dark blue that was lined with fur. There was no train, the bottom of the skirt dusting just above her boots as she had her hands neatly folded in front of her. Her long hair had been pulled away from her face in an intricate braid that caged the rest of her ivory locks.

"My lady," Robb smiled in spite of himself, climbing to his feet. She was always a welcoming sight, his raft in the middle of the ocean.

But her face was serious, an uncommon occurrence. "I have some news…" she drawled, holding a piece of rolled parchment between her fingers; a message. He spotted the broken gold seal, it was from King's Landing.

Robb strode over, accepting it from her and glaring down at the words that were printed upon his. His grip tightened and he grit his teeth at what he was reading. "My father…" he hissed between furious breaths. "Has been branded a traitor?"

"And King Robert is dead," Alyra added, gesturing to the bottom of the note.

Robb clenched the parchment, crumbling it in his hand. "Fucking Lannisters," he snarled, Grey Wind's ears pricking up at his rage.

"I have more news," Alyra pressed gently, but her eyes were as hard as stone.

Robb turned his head, gazing intently down at her.

"Your mother has returned."

"With the Imp in custody I pray?"

Alyra pursed her lips and shook her head.

Robb cursed, shoving the note into his cloak pocket. His mother had begun all of this by accusing the Lannisters at first and now his father had been branded a traitor. The wellbeing of his sisters was also in jeopardy as long as Eddard was a prisoner. He had to extract what information he could from his mother.

"Have her sent to the solar. I will speak with her there, alone…"

Alyra nodded and dipped her head respectfully before leaving him. She knew not to provoke his anger and left him to his own thoughts as he toiled mentally. Eventually, Robb felt he'd steadied himself enough to finally meet with his mother. He was still fuming, Grey Wind at his heels as he opened the door and his mother rose from the chair.

"Robb…" she started desperately, the months having aged her.

"What have you done?" Robb snapped, causing Catelyn to halt midway across the room. "You accused the Lannisters before having solid proof, led father into believing it, and then _lost _our one tie to settling this peacefully?"

Catelyn's face shifted, filled with guilt as her son gave her a reproachful glare. "You weren't there Robb, you wouldn't understand-"

"Wouldn't understand? In the past year I've been reforming the north, building it up so that when father returned he could retire in comfort. Now, he's a prisoner and Sansa and Arya are in the clutches of the Lannisters. Now what is so forthcoming that you believed, somehow, this was a good idea?"

"Because none of the Lannister children aside from the eldest princess are legitimate!" Catelyn broke in. "It started with a note from Lysa saying that Jon Arryn had been murdered. Bran must have saw something, perhaps Jaime and Cersei Lannister together, and they tried to kill him. Bran has never fallen from the ramparts… I knew it wasn't right."

Robb recalled all the golden haired children and the lean Baratheon princess with black hair and striking blue eyes like her father. Theon had been rather taken by his betrothed, but Robb thought she was too hard, coarse, and unlike a princess. He could entertain the idea of the other three being bastards bred of incest, but without solid proof it was a shot in the dark to accuse the Lannisters in their own city. They held King's Landing, not the Baratheons. With Robert dead, that meant the spoilt brat Joffrey would be coronated. "And the Imp?"

"Lysa was… not as I remembered. I brought him to the Eyrie and Lysa superseded me. He was my prisoner, but she was deluded. Little Robert was still sucking on her teat and he was the age of Rickon!" she let out a long sigh and collapsed back into the nearby chair. "She allowed him trial by combat to prove his innocence. He won."

"So you return home after leaving while I was gone and return after igniting what quite possibly will turn into a war. Father, being the man he is, _said _something rather than using tact to try and unwravel the capitol," Robb growled.

Catelyn stared at her son, as if flabbergasted by the man that stood in front of her. "You've changed…"

"I've adapted. Dealing with non-northerners has opened my eyes to the subterfuge that exists. Not everyone deals in honor as we do and you must be prepared to act. Father has always believed that people will abide by laws, do what is right, but obviously that is not the case. I hate that I've learned that lesson before him and he's surrounded by lions now."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to summon the banners. While you were gone, the north has grown wealthy."

"And you've named Alyra as a lady and given her titles," Catelyn observed. "I was greeted by her at the gates."

"She has been paramount to my success. Her brains, composure, and diplomacy has helped me grow and also enact the trade routes. She is my Mistress of Coin and Commerce. Father had Vayon Poole, I have Alyra Taennaris," Robb replied sternly, crossing his arms. Between all of his mother's blunders, he didn't see how she thought herself in a position to begin berating his decisions.

"Just your Mistress of Coin?" Catelyn pressed. "You haven't done anything foolish have you?"

Robb's eyes flashed angrily at his mother. "I haven't slept with her if that is what you're insinuating. Not on her honor-"

"_Her _honor? Robb do you hear yourself? She's just a commoner!"

"She's the blood of Old Valyria. She has Dragon Blood in her. Her ancestors were dragonlords in Valyria. While her riches may be gone, I still see the value of the Valyrian lady who works beside me," Robb argued swiftly.

"Do you hear yourself? You're at her whim-"

"Mother you are in no position to scold me. Alyra did not want any of the titles I gave her. She was content with remaining a commoner, but father always said to award those that have served faithfully and I have. Perhaps if you took some time to speak with her, you would realize she is an intelligent and hospitable woman. Go and clean yourself and be ready for dinner. I do not wish to speak of this any longer."

Catelyn stood up, glancing at Robb before accusing him, "You love her, don't you?"

His heart burned in his chest at those words. The year and a half they had been working together had brought them close, but he'd never done more than kiss her brow. He favored her, that much was obvious. However, he knew his duty and wouldn't forgive himself if he sullied her honor. "_Go,_" Robb muttered forcefully.

Catelyn poised a sympathetic look at her son. She brushed by and touched his arm. "I will try to like her… but you know that it cannot be."

Robb threw another glare at his mother and she sighed, finally resigning to take her leave. Yet, her words hung over him as he fell down into the chair by the fireplace, placing his head within his hands, fingers tangling in his dark auburn curls. His father was branded a traitor, the crown was headed by a Lannister bastard, and he was falling in love with a woman that he couldn't have. Duty dictated that he marry a lady that would benefit the Starks. But what could they offer? He had united some of the north's most powerful houses with trade, the others would follow him. The coffers of Winterfell were overflowing and he had the ability to buy swords if need be. Alas, he knew that his northern brethren would stand alongside of him, he had already proven in the last couple of years that he had the best intended for them.

_Regardless of what my mother says, she will be mine if she will have me. I am the Lord of Winterfell as long as my father is indisposed. She has no power to stop me and I know that my men will support me. Alyra has more than proven herself, _he thought, glancing up so that he could gave into the flames. He narrowed his eyes, catching a strange reflection within the pit of the flames, almost as if he was seeing images.

He was staring at a dias on which he swore he saw Joffrey grinning over. Beside Joffrey was the queen, the rotund man with a crystal crown, another bald fat man, Sansa, and… his father? But his father was kneeling, head bent forward in submission as stones were hurled at him. The faces of all the figures, aside from Joffrey, were marred with fear, stretched wide in ghoulish screams as a sword came down and cleaved his father's head off. Robb gasped and the fire popped, disturbing the images he had been watching, returning the fire to nothing but wickering flames.

_What did I… _His stomach twisted from the sorcery he had just witnessed. _I must be exhausted or stressed._

* * *

Robb called his banners to Winterfell and they answered. It was taking them time for all of them arrive, but ravens had reached their keeps in regards to Eddard. Thus far the Umbers, Boltons, Glovers, Manderlys, Norreys, Liddles, Wulls, and Flints had all arrived and were staying in the expanded Guest House on the Winterfell grounds. They were imploring him to sit council, but he refused until the Mormonts, Karstarks, and Reeds joined them. Nearly every lord was trying to get a piece of his time, but Robb was stringent, attempting to set the trading routes in a manner that would allow him to leave it in Lewin's hands if they marched south to war.

With the last of the houses set to arrive any day, Robb fixated on his duties, using them as an excuse to have his mother entertain the lords that were there. No further word had come from King's Landing, fraying his nerves for the wellbeing of his family. He had already made point to send a raven denouncing Joffrey as king and he wasn't the only one. Both Baratheon brothers had given themselves crowns, in spite of the legitimate Baratheon niece they had. What had become of Cirilla Baratheon or Theon Greyjoy was beyond Robb, no word had gone out on them.

His mother had resumed looking over Bran and Rickon, finally reigning in the uncouth youngest. Now that he didn't have to worry about Shaggy Dog attacking another person, especially Alyra, he could focus. Each day he spent time in the Godswood, praying that the gods would preserve those in the south. He would win them back, even if he had to wage a war. With the north in an economic incline, he was confident in their ability to rally.

"My lord," Rodrik Cassel appeared beside him, having assumed the role as steward in the late Vayon Poole's stead. He wasn't as clever or quick as Alyra, but he was organized enough to help Robb. "Lady Alyra will not be attending dinner tonight, she is feeling ill."

Robb frowned, he'd seen Alyra try to work while still feverish and recovering from her injury. He didn't know her to let a small cold hamper her ability to show face. "How ill?"

"I'm not certain. She will not let anyone into her chambers," Rodrik answered.

"I'll go-"

"_Robb!" _before he could pardon himself, he saw his mother running from out of the tower that held the rookery and Maester Lewin's turret. His brows pulled together, her face was red and eyes eyes streaming with tears as she stumbled across the courtyard, her chest heaving in sorrow. "Y-your father," she stammered, finally meeting him and collapsing into his arms.

"What about father? Is there word-"

"_He's dead!_" Catelyn wailed loud enough for all of Winterfell to hear. Servants were turning around and despite her cries, Robb heard nothing. Instead, he stood there, holding his mother as she wept. What was happening? _How _had this happened? His mind went back to the images in the fire he had seen just weeks before. Somehow he had expected this, _known _that what was in the fire would come to fruition.

"Rodrik, escort my mother to her chambers," Robb said blankly, passing his weeping mother off to the Cassel. He did not wait for a response, whirling away in a dervish as Grey Wind flanked him, a silver shadow. Storming into the Great Keep, he beelined up the stairs and began rapping on one of the doors.

When it cracked open to reveal Alyra, he didn't speak, he simply pushed open the door and stepped in with her. "My lord-" she began, her brows pulling together. She was a vision, wrapped in thin Myrish silk that clung to her womanly form. The material was thin and left little to the imagination, her nipples perky against the lavender silk. Robb embraced her, holding her tight to his chest, feeling her soft curves against him, pressing his face into her pale hair as his emotions overcame him. Alyra was stiff for a moment, but after a few seconds she relaxed and held him. "Robb…" she drawled, her sweet voice drawing him back into reality.

Robb pulled away. "News from King's Landing… my father is dead. Joffrey had him executed."

Alyra's face molted and she took the news hard. His father had been kind to her, allowed her to work as a handmaiden despite her simple birth. She had flourished in Winterfell all due to Eddard and now the man that had protected her, clothed her, given her a place to stay was gone. She forced a quivering smile, but her features were still lined with sorrow. She reached up and touched his face, caressing his beard, reaching up to his cheekbone. "Then it's war," she whispered gravely.

"Yes, I'll kill them all for this," Robb reached down and pressed his head to hers. "Are you alright?" He attempted to distract himself from his grief, averting his attention. "I heard you were ill."

"I…" she glanced down and Robb tried not to stare at her, but the silk was pressed against her skin, lolling over her full breasts, slender waist, and child bearing hips. In his emotional and distracted state, he felt his face grow hot and his chest burn with desire. "I couldn't leave because of-" a screech drew his attention and he lifted his head in astonishment. Grey Wind had circled round and had cornered a creature. "No!" she swept away from him, passing Grey Wind and bending over to pick something up.

Robb followed her and when she turned his heart stopped. Curled around her fingers was a dragon about the size of a cat. The winged lizard was a pale silver-grey with keen blue eyes like the summer sky. Its scales winked in the light with a shimmering iridescence, refracting blue and white. The dragon swept up onto Alyra's shoulders and pushed beneath her hair, popping its streamline head out on the other side and giving Grey Wind a shrill hiss, baring needle-like teeth.

Robb steadied Grey Wind with his hand, awestruck by the being of fable that stood before him. A woman with the blood of the dragonlords and a dragon. The egg had not been a simple stone, it had been waiting for the proper time to hatch. "Do you understand why now? I couldn't leave her and nor could I bring her outside."

His father's life had paid for that of the dragon's, of that Robb was certain. The last dragon. His head swam at what this meant. Given a couple of years, the dragon would be large enough to ride and armies would balk before it. He had promised to protect Alyra and now the dragon that coiled around her. The dragon was the key, the creature that would rally his bannermen in support. The gods wanted them to win, they had a dragon and her mistress in the service of Winterfell.

"Alyra you possess the last dragon known to men, do you know what that means?" Robb asked her breathlessly.

She was glancing at the dragon, the beast rubbing its serpentine head against her face. "It means I will be hunted ruthlessly. Many will try to kill the dragon or steal it before it is fully grown."

"The north will protect you. _I _will protect you," he insisted, soaking in her eminence. He passed Grey Wind and despite the dragon that was around her, he bent down and kissed her. Her lips were soft and yielding, the touch of hers against his like a dragonfire in his throat. When they broke away, he held her close, savoring the touch of a woman against him. He had dreamed of it for so long, wished that it could be true, that the stars would align and fate intended it. But she had been a commoner from a name written in ashes. Being with her would have been painful, as marrying would have either been impossible or soiled the Stark name. He didn't care anymore, he'd restrained himself long enough.

"Robb," she muttered. "Your head's not in the right place at the moment. Between the news of your father-"

Ever trying to play devil's advocate, he found a smile gracing his features. "I've never seen more clearly," he insisted, brushing her thick hair away from her face.

"I doubt it," she mused, gazing up at him with those lovely lavender irises.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he asked.

"News will be spreading of this, you should show face tonight," Alyra reminded him.

"My bannermen will understand if I vanish for a night after hearing the news," Robb insisted, his cheek against her hair. He needed her comfort in the dark of the night, especially now that his idol, his hero was gone. No one believed in honor or truths, else his father would still be alive.

Alyra considered him for a few moments, the dragon hopping down from its perch and trundling around the room. "You can, but I-" she halted, finding it difficult to formulate words. She glanced up at him and Robb could see the confliction in her eyes. "Where does this lead? You know that I will always stand beside you, through ice, fire, and blood. I owe your family everything and my life is yours. But… your advances. I don't want to get too much hope, to think it could truly be more than just something behind closed doors. One day you will have to marry and I'll be here, watching."

"No, you won't. I'm the Lord of Winterfell now. I make the decisions. What lords do you know have daughters who have a dragon? You _are _of noble blood and will be treated as such. Without you I wouldn't have grown to understand how the world operated outside of the north. Even then, your intellect astounds me, your composure…" he hissed a sigh of frustration. Leave it to her to question his motives. When had he ever given her a reason to doubt him?

"If you're promising me that… we can be together or _try_, I… Robb, I don't want to be hurt. Perhaps that's too tall of an order-" she had strode around, her arm drew around herself protectively.

Words failed him, but he strode toward her lifting her up to meet his lips. If he couldn't explain it, he would show her that he was serious. She was light due to her size and Robb backed her into the wall, her hair scattering around him like curtains as he pressed her to the stone. Her legs straddled him as he held her up, mouths intertwined, her fingers laced in his curls. Her breasts heaved with effort as they broke away from a moment, a small mutter escaping her parted lips, "_Robb_." It drove him mad.

A deep desire burned in his chest like her kisses, boiling over from the months he had dreamed of this encounter. Her robe began slipping from her shoulders like liquid, baring her pale creamy collar, rolling down to reveal the tops of her breasts. Heat blossomed against his groin and he couldn't bare waiting much longer. He carried her over to the four poster bed, placing her gently against the furs and quilts. The robe continued to slip down, revealing her slender waist and flat tummy. Her eyes turned up to him filled with desire and apprehension. She tugged at the robe, as if she should try and preserve her modesty.

Robb touched her face, kissing her passionately again. "I'll be gentle," he swore.

"I know, I'm not worried about you," she murmured, averting her eyes abashed. It took her a moment, but she got upon her knees and let the rest of the Myrish silk flow off of her and pool on the bed around her. Alyra's glorious form quickened his heart and his pants felt painfully tight. She drew close to him, her slender fingers working at the leather ties on his jerkin. His clothes were thrown in a pile on the floor, her fingers running across his muscular chest.

He ran his hands sensually ran along her smooth skin, her fingers tugging at the trousers he still had on. Touching her hair he kissed her sweetly again, her lips parting so that he could taste her. He shuddered as his trousers came down and her fingers grazed his manhood. He pressed his hard mast against her wet mound, her lashes flickering against his face. A lilting breath peaked as he probed her wet sex. Slowly and carefully, he slid within her, lines of heat searing down his back like wildfire as Alyra arched beneath him, his full length slowly moving deeper until he filled her entirety. She was so petite that he nearly thought he wouldn't fit.

Alyra's fingers clutched his shoulder, her nails digging into his flesh as he began moving in and out, her moans of pleasure quickening his pace. He'd never felt anything so euphoric and pleasurable. He wanted her more than anything and now he had her. Her free hand pushed, shoving him quite hard for someone so tiny. He put him over on his back and straddled him, sliding onto his manhood, her hips moving along him seductively. Robb's fingers clutched her hips, her breasts swaying and bouncing as her silver hair billowed around her. Her groans grew quicker and Robb began pushing against her, his own ecstasy mounting. She rode him hard, her gasps contributing to his own low moans of pleasure. With a huff and shudder, his orgasm took him, so overwhelming that he swore he saw stars.

Alyra was breathing heavily, sliding off of him slowly and curling up beside him. Robb's arm wrapped around her nude form, her head pressed to his chest as his heart rate began to steady. He kissed her brow, savoring her proximity as they laid there. He began playing with her long, luminous hair.

"Alyra..." Robb said finally, realizing what he had just done. He had been unable to contain himself, letting his lust drive him. Now he had taken her maidenhood. Craving to distract himself from the cruel news, he had used Alyra. Sweet, loyal Alyra. She trusted him inexplicitly and he'd used that trust to sleep with her. And he wanted her yet, again and again and again. No other woman had complimented him so, made him see clearly, or caught his breath in his chest with a look.

She propped her head up and glanced up him curiously, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I… I never shared with you the story of how I came to be here. The _full _story."

Robb's brows furrowed and he gazed at her. "Your home burned down and you rode for Winterfell?"

She nodded slowly. "Do you recall when I told you about the man who wanted to kill me and take my head to King Robert and claim I was Daenerys Targaryen?"

Robb chuckled, brushing his fingers against her cheekbone. "Yes, not exactly befitting of pillow talk."

"It's important," she assured him before continuing. "The same man came to my home when I was eight. He must have seen my parents in the market, but he knew we were from Lys. My mother shoved Vaeron and I beneath the pantry and pulled the rug over to hide us. We listened as the man murdered my father and then raped my mother before killing her too. All because we had the look of the Targaryens. He thought we had some secret treasure… This was before I knew what was in our heirloom chest… And he left.

"Five years later he returned. By then Vaeron was working in service to Lord Karstark and was over at Karhold, which is a four hour ride from our farm. It was raining hard and I thought I heard a noise at the door. I went into the bedroom to light a lamp and when I turned around, a man was standing behind me. He told me how once the farm belonged to his family and he'd come and murdered each family that lived there after. I offered him money, whatever I might have, but he was there for the thrill of the hunt. Like my mother, he was going to rape and kill me. I'd heard it before and so… I accepted my fate. I laid there, waiting for it to all be over. I was thirteen years old and I stared death in the eye and accepted it.

"But I saw the lamp and I grabbed it, smashing it over the man before he could…" she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "He burned to death and the house caught fire in the process. I walked away unscathed and rode for Winterfell, uncertain if someone would come looking for him."

Alyra laid her head back down beside his and Robb realized why she was sharing that. She was sympathizing with him, she knew what it was like to lose a parent, to lose _both _parents. Robb hadn't had to witness his father's beheading, though it had felt quite realistic gazing into the flames. "When I came to Winterfell I was so scared, afraid that I would be cast back on the road. To think that in these years that I've gone from a bald girl begging Farlen for a job to here. It's… unfathomable."

"The gods willed it, just as they gave you a dragon," Robb traced the line of her collar. "And how they're going to give you a husband."

Alyra sat up at his words and gave him an uncertain look. "You don't mean…"

Robb pulled her on top of his chest, the blankets shifting around her waist as he ran his fingers back through her hair and kissed her again. "I do. I love you. I've _loved _you. I will announce it. After tonight-" she touched her fingers to his lips to silence him.

"Don't," she muttered, resting her head back on him. "There will be a lot of trials ahead of you. Get some rest, tomorrow will be trying and you'll have to face the inquiries of your lords about the death of your father."

"Ever the realist," Robb muttered, closing his eyes.

"Everything can't be sunshine and kisses. Even if tonight was… wonderful. It was a distraction from your pain. I will be here to ease your pain, but you need to remember that it's there or else you'll lose yourself to dreams. And those who spend time dreamily idly or ignoring their pain make mistakes that lead to death."

"And macabre," Robb added with a smirk.

"Delightfully so. You need someone to keep you tethered to reality," she muttered lightly.

Movement at the foot of the bed caused them both to look down, the small dragon curling up by Lyra's feet. "What are you going to name her?"

Alyra, whose eyes were fixated on the tiny dragon, "Shrykos."

* * *

R/N: From henceforth I will be replying to reviews at the end of chapters.

**DaveG:** Thank you!

**Carolus Magnus81: **Thank you! Yes, I know GRR doesn't delve too deeply into what old Valyrian houses there are and I fancy that those of Lys nobility may be linked to the dragonlords and have the purest lines, which possess the silver white or pale gold hair with violet eyes. I know the commoners also have the features, but it can often be muddled or combined with lines outside of Lys. Not much is ever mentioned about the dragonlords and the Targaryens aren't even from the strongest dragonlord houses. I wanted to pull in more Valyrian blood into Westeros that wasn't Targaryen. I'm glad you like the idea!


	7. Vaeron II

CHAPTER SEVEN

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_Vaeron_

War was coming. He knew that as Lord Rickard received the summoning from Winterfell, along with all of the bannermen of the north. Eddard Stark had been branded a traitor and now his eldest son wanted to raise in his defense. The same son that had created commerce in the north, pulling Karhold along to the top. All of the north benefited from the trade, but three houses had gained the most coin because of it; the Starks, Karstarks, and Manderlys. Vaeron had barely believed when Edd Karstark had shown him the silvery purple sigil and the signature from a Taennaris. All those years, wondering if Alyra was dead or alive, were finally answered. She was the Mistress of Coin for Winterfell.

He had wanted to ride to Winterfell immediately, embrass his sister and hold her close. Nightmares of her death plagued him, imagining what had happened to his mother occurring to her. When their parents had died, he'd sworn that he would protect and raise her. She was a clever thing, always had been. She excelled in books where Vaeron thought they were boring. Father had always doted on her more, spending long hours by the fire as they practiced writing, reading, or math. He had been a peaceful man. Was he looking down on Vaeron with a smile? So many had fallen against his blade, it was why the Karstarks kept him close.

In the years since their farm had burned down, Vaeron put his mind to the only thing that would distract him; swordplay and work. Edd kept Vaeron as a sort of squire, even though they didn't keep knights this far north. He was the Sword of the Winter Sun, their champion. In spite of his prowess and skill, Vaeron had done little else than faithfully serve the Karstarks. With their wealth growing, they had rewarded him for his service. Yet, hearing of what his sister had accomplished on her own had made him feel as if he'd done very little. Fixated on being the best soldier he could be, he honed his body and followed orders unless... unless he felt as if they were unjust. Perhaps that was why the Karstarks kept him close.

Lesser men would do as ordered without question, but Vaeron would question. Only due to his relationship with Edd was he able to voice his opinions about decisions. Rickard Karstark had hated him for it, thought that he was a glib and arrogant youth. But as the years progressed, he began realizing that another set of eyes, violet ones, saw the world in a different manner. Vaeron saw it from the commoner's perspective. He knew what they would suffer when the soldiers marched through their towns and would voice his qualms loudly. Not every soldier was honorable, that much was plain by the sword he had found on his farm. Many, when given the chance, would use their station to steal from taverns and coerce the smallfolk into submission. Vaeron didn't think that soldiers were punished enough for atrocities like rape.

His insight had gave him a gift that his noble employers could not possess or fathom. They attempt being as empathetic as possible, but they had always lived in the safety of their walls, just as the smallfolk wouldn't understand politics. He might not have been elevated like his sister, but he did have the respect and ears of his lords.

"You'll finally get to see your sister again," Edd Karstark commented as they rode alongside each other down the fresh road laid between Winterfell and Karhold. "You never mentioned that she was smart enough to run a trade operation."

"She's always been smart. Smarter than me... but I didn't know she'd be able to do all of this," he motioned to the sprawling road ahead of them.

"The Starks have always been known to let their servants flourish. If they've a strong enough mind, they always pay heed. I believe Lord Eddard would have a different servant sit with him at dinner every night so he could talk to them about their jobs, duties, family, and life," Edd told him. "The Young Wolf has proven himself as well. I know not of his battle prowess, but he certainly has a head for ensuring the north has legs to stand on this coming winter. I don't think any Warden has put as much work into trade and our roads in a long time."

"We've certainly reaped the benefits as well as the Manderlys, but the rest of the north?" Vaeron reminded him.

"Ah, they've benefited too. Remember that the furs have to come from somewhere and our forests and the wolfswood aren't the only hunting ground.s. The Umbers have also gotten to contribute and with the King's Road passing right by them it makes it easy to transport their goods. I bet the Umbers were among the first to arrive. They've been trying to garner more of the Young Wolf's attention so that they can set up better deals or relieve some of their taxes," Edd mused, speaking of subjects that Vaeron never dabbled in. "All of the north is prospering. Just Starks, Manderlys, and Karstarks more."

Winterfell loomed ahead of them over verdant moors of tall grass. The blades of green danced in the wind that swept across the hills, the sky slightly overcast and grey. Camped outside the double wall of Winterfell were the thousands of foot soldiers and cavalry that the other bannermen had brought. Just behind Edd and Vaeron were three hundred horsemen and two thousand soldiers. Flying high in the sky, he could see the fist of the Glovers, the flayed man of the Boltons, and the merman of the Manderlys. Those with higher positions or stations would be allowed to stay inside of Winterfell, but a military this large could not all be hosted within its walls.

Vaeron swallowed, his nerves hitching. He was never nervous. Not before battle, not when speaking to nobles, not when he smiled at a pretty woman. Now that he was finally going to see his kid sister... a woman grown... Employed in the service of Lord Robb Stark, a trusted advisor... He wondered if there would be anything left of the Alyra that he had known.

Lord Rickard and his eldest sons, Harrion and Torrhen, entered first, followed closed by Eddard and Vaeron. The banner was being flown by Vaeron, who brought his horse up behind his lord. Winterfell was overflowing with servants who were bustling around the courtyard like ants. Lord Rickard was clearly ruffled that Robb was not there to greet him, but Vaeron was aware that he had a handful of other lords to also make comfortable.

"Lord Karstark," a clear, articulate voice directed their attention between the moving smallfolk and to a petite woman who was dressed in a structured navy blue gown trimmed with white fur. Vaeron's heart stopped as he recognized her immediately, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she was dressed to impress, but also for business. This was not the whimsical and lovely dress of a soft noble lady. She was an advisor to Lord Robb, a chain cross the dress, pinning a sable cloak to her back with a dragon shaped fastening.

"Ah, Lady Alyra?" Rickon dismounted from his horse, followed by his sons as he approached the woman. "I expected..."

"Someone of a larger stature?" she mused, betraying a small muted smile.

"From the way you spoke in your letters, yes. It is a pleasure to finally meet the woman behind the numbers," he took her gloved hand between his and eagerly shook it, which was uncommon of Rickon. Vaeron knew him to be foul tempered and broody due to his age.

"Thank you, my lord, the pleasure is all mine. Lord Robb would have been here to greet you, but the other lords are growing restless. We have been waiting on your arrival to sit council. When the guards stated they saw your banners from the watchtowers, the masses began locating to the Great Hall," she explained eloquently, inclining her head slightly in apology.

"And they think I'm an impatient old bat," Rickard muttered sourly, but not directing his words to her. "Very well, but before we do-" his lord turned around and met his eyes. "Vaeron!"

Vaeron dismounted and strode toward his lord.

"Edd told me it's been some years since you've seen your sister. Make your exchange brief, I want you with us when the meeting begins and I expect Lady Alyra also has to sit post beside her lord," Rickard snapped, but in spite of his foul mood, Vaeron knew he was giving him a kindness in his own strange way.

"Of course my lord, I'll be with you in a moment," he promised, bowing respectfully before Rickon.

The Karstarks moved along, leaving Vaeron to face his sister. She hadn't grown much in height, but she had filled out with a womanly form. Her pale silver hair glittered as if they were strands made of pearl, tied back in an intricate braid, spiralling down to her waist over her dark cloak. Despite the eyes that might have been in the courtyard, Vaeron moved swiftly across the yard and swept Alyra up into his arms.

She was light and so small that he lifted her right off her feet and clenched her tightly against his chestplate. Her soft giggles brushed his ear as he held her, emotions overwhelming him as he held his sibling close. "For so long... I thought you might be dead or worse," he mumbled, inhaling the scent of lavender and sage that clung to her.

"The Starks protected me," she mumbled, clinging to him. He placed her back down on her feet and she glanced up at him with keen, intelligent violet eyes. "I worked as a handmaiden before my skills in High Valyrian were needed to negotiate with some Pentoshi merchants. After that... this all became history. Lord Robb realized I had more promise and utilized me accordingly."

"A wise wolf," Vaeron smirked.

"And what of you? Riding alongside of the Karstarks being their banner wielder?" Alyra prompted, taking his arm and leading him through Winterfell.

"I wouldn't call myself an advisor as much as a petty commander. I work alongside of Lord Edd Karstark and train the men. I also offer my council when they request it," he informed her.

"Just look at the fine armor you're wearing. No simple soldier is gifted a set such as that. The Karstarks trust their Sword of the Winter Sun," her lips curled up mischievously at the title he'd earned in his years of service.

Vaeron felt his cheeks burn as he chuckled at her. "Ah yes, about that…" She was referencing the set of armor that Rickard Karstark had commissioned for him. Emblazoned with the white winter sun on the chest, the silver steel was reinforced and etched. A knight's envy, it was a wonderfully made piece, light and sturdy, easy enough for him to move with little hinderance. A black cloak dark like the abysmal depths of the sea fell behind him, clasped to his plate.

"I don't wish to cut our meeting short, but I need to prepare for the council with the banners. After I want to sit down and speak to you about these past few years," she had brought him before the entrance of the Great Hall where men were filing in.

"I understand, we must both do our duty," Vaeron bent down and kissed his sister on the cheek. "Try not to overwhelm yourself."

Alyra's laughter tinkled harshly and she shot him a look that made her look more like the 13 year old girl he once knew. "A bit late for that, brother," she gave him a final squeeze of the arm and turned heel, striding back from whence she came.

Vaeron turned to gaze at the entrance, the heavy iron wood doors propped open and the stone hall waiting with rows of benches for the lords and their sons to sit. Finding his liege, he stood behind the Karstarks, among other trusted swords of the nobles. The head table was empty and remained so for a few minutes. A large, stout man with white whiskers and hair stepped out from the door beside the mantle.

"All rise for the arrival of Lord Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North," in unison, everyone shuffled up from their seats as their liege stepped out. Vaeron noted the confused faces of a few noble houses, including the Karstarks. Warden of the North? Lord of Winterfell? A deep foreboding filled him as the man stepped out.

Garbed in dark leathers with a dark grey cloak, trimmed with a wolf's pelt was a handsome broad Stark. He had the typical brooding brows of a northerner, but his eyes were a clear river blue and his hair a mass of dark auburn curls. He wore his sword belt, the clasps of his cloak in the shape of direwolves. Following closely behind him like a grey shadow was an enormous beasts. Vaeron blinked, almost as if he had mistaken what he saw. But the creature flanking him was a hulking direwolf, keeping close to its master.

Once Robb had acknowledged them and then sat in his seat, the room followed. "Good afternoon, I welcome you all to Winterfell under these grave circumstances. Many of you may not be aware, having just arrived, but notice from King's Landing arrived just three days ago that the bastard child, Joffrey, has beheaded my father, Eddard Stark for treason under the guise of promising to let him take the Black," Robb began cordially. He stood up and began pacing, another woman coming from behind the back door, likely the young man's mother Catelyn. She sat beside the white haired man who made the announcements.

Stepping in front of the table he had been sitting at Robb paused, "This may come to a shock or not be surprising. The Lannisters possess the Iron Throne while placing a child borne of incest on it, claiming that he is of Robert Baratheon's blood. However, the eve that the king dined here, some may recall his first daughter who had hair as black as night and eyes like lightning, whereas no other of his children possess his features…" There was muttering in agreement, many lords had come out to Winterfell to honor the king while he was in the north. "And there is no denying that the queen is _close _with her brother… My father challenged Cersei and she had him arrested. She forced him to defile his name in hope of keeping his head. And that golden bastard still took it."

Shouts of anger echoed Robb's voice which was strained. "Whore queen!"

"Lannister cunts!"

He waited until the cries died down. "The Lannisters still have my sisters in possession. They have wrongly murdered my father and send ravens demanding that we bend the knee to our new king. But I do not call him our king and we shall not bend our knees. They lost that right after they killed my father and took my sisters hostage. There will be no smile of satisfaction on that golden brat's face.

"Over the course of the last two years, I have helped build infrastructure and trade. The north is stronger than it has ever been. We have connections across the Narrow Sea, we have the support of Riverrun and the Tullys, now I implore you my lords to show me your support. We cannot sit idly while the southron lords and 'king' humiliate us. If they believed we would bend the knee after the death of my father, they could not have been more wrong."

These words caused men to jump up and scream their agreement. Vaeron thought the Stark was rather well spoken, knowing how to bring the men round and rally them. This was a trait not common in the northmen. He wondered if Alyra had a hand in building the Young Wolf's charisma. His heavy brows, the way that his face was drawn seriously, it reflected that of the solemn northern lords.

"House Manderly stands beside you," Wylis Manderly announced first, immediately echoed by Rickard Karstark and Galbrat Glover.

Greatjon Umber rose, an imposing and very large man. He challenged Robb Stark. "If we shall not bend our knee to any southron king, what does that make us?"

Robb Stark considered him silently, not providing an immediate answer.

However, Rickard strode up to the Greatjon. "It makes _him _the King of the North. I will not bow to any bloody southron king again. They have done nothing for us. He has more than proven himself and I see no one better to lead us than the Young Wolf," Rickard's worse caused a ripple of muttering. He approached Robb and unsheathed his sword, struggling to one knee as he leaned upon the blade. "You have helped the Karstarks beyond imagination, more than any king below the Neck ever has. I pronounce you the only king I shall bend my knee before."

Wylis Manderly ripped his own sword out and joined Rickard. "On part of House Manderly, I pronounce you our king."

Just like dominoes, the lords withdrew their swords and pledged their oaths to Robb Stark. It had been decided that the north would divide from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and they would no longer be part of it. Vaeron took a knee among the others and Robb Stark surveyed his loyal vassals with an unreadable expression.

"Rise my lords," he declared. "I am honored that you would have me as king, but I have more announcements to make. You have brought all your swords to Winterfell, prepared to march south to retake our honor. Before you claim me king, I want to inform you that I intend to marry my Mistress of Coin, Lady Alyra Taennaris."

All respect Robb Stark had balanced on the tip of a sword as the lords looked among each other, uncertain. Vaeron was astounded, staring at the Warden of the North with awe. Robb Stark wished to marry his sister?

"Your grace," Lord Bolton entreated carefully. "I understand that Lady Alyra has done our kingdom well and contributed greatly to reforming it, but she is lowborne…"

Vaeron's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword at the Bolton's words, dismayed that people would bring blood into it. Had Alrya not proven herself worthy?

Robb went back around the table to sit down, resting his chin on his hands as he leered out into the crowd. "She is not lowborne," he said simply.

"Do you not think there may be another lord… that can provide a more promising union for a king?" Lord Bolton continued.

"Can any other lords gift me a dragon?" Robb challenged before turning his head, nodding at Rodrik Cassel.

The door open for a fourth time and Alyra strode out, a creature perched upon her shoulder. Gasps of disbelief and awe mixed with gaping followed at the dragon let out a little puff of smoke from its maw. Beautiful grey wings glittered in the torchlight, beating its wings before it fluttered down onto the table, announcing its presence to all those who looke. Alyra followed the dragon, reaching her hand out to stroke down the lizard's spines. With a soft coo the dragon turned and affectionately rubbed against her hand.

"Dragon Queen," he heard Lord Halys Hornwood whisper.

"Do you resent my choice now or will you choose to support my decision of our union?" Robb Stark's eyes swept icily over the crowd.

"The gods have willed it," Greatjon Umber growled, his eyes on the tiny dragon that hopped into Alyra's arms like a child. "Or else they would not have given us a dragon." He approached the dias, eyes boring into Alyra. "My lady…"

Alyra drew herself up, not the even mannered lady she typically was. "I know this may be jarring for many of you. I have spent the last couple of years working in service of the north. I grew up here, lived among your people. I may not have your look, but the north has always been my home, _will _always be my home. I am the Blood of Old Valyria, the Blood of the Dragon, descended of the Dragonlords of Valyria, and the gods saw fit to hatch the egg my family passed down from generation to generation, in this time of strife. Do you need any more proof or will you renounce me?" her eyes burned on the Greatjon who was standing in front of her.

"No," he said sternly, falling to a knee in front of the table. "There could not be a more suitable queen for our liege. This is what the gods intended."

"Rise Lord Umber. I'd prefer if our men spent less time kneeling and we continued this meeting," Alyra told him, using her free hand to gesture him up.

Greatjon cracked a smile and a deep, booming guffaw escaped his mouth. "Business as always. A dragon has not changed you, my lady."

"Of course not," her eyes sparkled and she glanced at her betrothed.

Robb took her hand as she sat and the dragon pawed around. Greatjon took his spot among the benches and when Vaeron inspected the faces of the men, he noticed that there was a confident determination. Many were still shell shocked by the sight of a living, breathing dragon. Vaeron certainly was. _Is that what was in the chest? A dragon? _The silver beast kept close to Alyra, as if she were its mother. It seemed to tolerate Robb, but was partial to Alyra. To think that inside of the seal chest their family possessed had been a live dragon egg was astounding. No one truly knew what was inside of it. Perhaps the ones that had sealed it, the magic of the chest keeping the dragon in a stasis, but it had opened for Alyra. Was Vaeron jealous? Of course, Alyra was to become queen and she held the last dragon in her arms. Even if he wished he had the dragon, he respected his sister's ability and the manner in which held herself.

_She will make a good queen, _he thought as the plans for the march south commenced. Alyra had experience living among the smallfolk, a true rags to riches story. While Vaeron had been serving the Karstarks faithfully, she had been spreading her wings, overshadowing the north, nurturing it in hand with Robb Stark. _Does she love him or is this a marriage of convenience? _Robb secured the dragon if he married Alyra, even if she had been a loyal servant.

Vaeron was only half listening, his eyes burning into the dias where his sister sat beside Robb Stark. He always knew that their family was destined for more, that their blood would put them above the base borne. Alyra carried them to the top, her eyes sweeping across the room. He knew now why she had chosen her attire. She didn't want to seem soft and ladylike, her gown was like a surcoat, the hem barely brushing the ground, her black leather boots glinting beneath. This was the dress of a queen ready for war. She would not sit idly at Winterfell while her future husband went south. Dragonlords were conquerors, male or female, and she would be among them for the fight.

Soon enough, Robb Stark was calling for a smaller meeting requiring that only the heads of certain houses remain behind. Vaeron rose, knowing that it was his time to be dismissed. Alyra watched him depart.

* * *

"When are you to be wed?" Alyra had invited Vaeron to her solar in a tower they called 'The Broken Tower', despite the fact that it was whole and her office was at the zenith. Her dragon, Shrykos, nipped playfully at his fingers. The creature was interested in him, probably because he also possessed the same blood at her, but it always scurried back to Alyra like a child to its mother; Vaeron was just the adored uncle.

"Wylis Manderly has offered for us to have it in White Harbor when we march south. I've already sent raven to Wyman to request the Golden Company and the Wolf Pack join our cause," Alyra informed him, pouring glasses of fine Pentoshi wine that smelled strongly of pear.

"Sellswords? I assume the other lords did not like that idea," he sipped the wine, admiring the solar she had.

"Not at first, but the Golden Company and Wolf Pack have roots with us. The Golden Company has ties to the Targaryens and in turn, us. We are the closest to Targaryens since they have fallen. The Great Bastard Aegon Rivers founded the Golden Company and if they know we have a dragon…" her eyes listed over to Shrykos who shrieked in delight at her attention. "They are expensive, but they are the most reliable. On the other hand, The Wolf Pack was founded by northmen during the Dance of Dragons. We would pay both companies, but their additions would greatly increase our numbers. The north is sparsely populated and while the men fancy one northmen equals ten southrons, _I _know how to do math."

"Speaking of math, can we afford them?"

Her eyes glinted and she brought her chalice to her full lips. "Yes, the coffers of Winterfell are full enough to pay them. Our trade will continue while we go to war, seeing that the war will be raged outside of our lands. I am leaving Maester Lewin and Bran Stark in charge of the delegations in our stead. Lady Hornwood has also agreed to come to Winterfell and assist. She is a smart woman, managing her castle for a great time now. Lord Wyman also knows how we prefer to run the system as well and I put much of my faith in him, seeing he will certainly not leave White Harbor."

"Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse?"

Alyra scowled playfully. "Now then, he is one of our most staunch vassals, not to mention one of my biggest supporters. Not too long ago he requested my hand for his son, Wendel."

"And you considered it?"

"I could never have left Winterfell," she admitted wistfully. "What of you? How did you get the title of The Sword of the Winter Sun?" Swapping subjects to fixate on Vaeron he felt as if his accomplishments paled in comparison to hers.

"Before the trading began we were having issues with pirates. Lord Rickard intended to protect his lands and people and I fought alongside of Eddard Karstark who had taken me in somewhat like a… squire? There aren't knights this far north, but he had me work beneath him. Battle after battle I proved myself and eventually, I realized that while the Karstarks were trying to protect their people, some of the tactics they used ruined fields, tore families apart, left villages open while we fixated on the one enemy. I didn't see it that way. I saw people like us struggling, living in fear of what might happen tomorrow. Destroying their fields meant that they would starve and they were doing nothing to reconcile it.

"I voiced my opinions to Edd, who then brought me before his father. By then Lord Rickard had heard of my prowess on the field, proven again and again. He didn't think me much of a commander or strategist. In fact, he was so angry with how outspoken I was for the smallfolk that he threatened to behead me for treason, for speaking out of turn to a noble and challenging his authority. I requested a trial by combat and won again a very seasoned man… Rickard's last commander.

"When I killed him, Rickard was beside himself and let me accompany Edd to continue my work against the pirates. We stood finally against them by the Grey Cliffs, juxtaposed by a village that was in threat of being cast into the sea. I knew they would just flee to their ships if we went at them directly, but their greed knew no bounds. My plan was to swap places with the villagers, pretend to be villagers ourself and in turn, file them out and to safety. It was a strange idea, but Edd entertained it and we stripped out armor for roughspun tunics. Our weapons were hidden in wagons and we quietly traded places with the commoners.

"The pirates struck at predicted and with their full force. They did not expect the entire village to be soldiers. We pulled our swords out and slaughtered them. Edd has always fancied that my skill with a sword is on the same level as Jaime Lannister. I can't say, seeing I've never met the Kingslayer, but perhaps I'll get the chance to test myself when we go south," memories flitted through his head as he recounted his trials.

"Rickard Karstark would not have named you his sword if you did not possess skill… Especially after belittling him and eliminating his commanding officer," Alyra had her elbows propped on her desk, chin resting on her fingers.

"It took him some warming up… Edd has always stood stalwart beside me, but his father is much more temperamental. I assumed the role of commander four years ago and it's been an uphill battle since. Rickard only did it on suggestion of Edd. I swear, he loathed me. He very well still might," Vaeron replied taking another sip of wine. "I still can't believe everything you've achieved."

"Our parents always knew we were destined for greatness or else they wouldn't have bothered teaching us," Alyra gave a sad smile as she recalled their parents. She hefted her goblet. "To our parents, for whom shaped us into who are we today."

"To the Taennaris, deceased and living," Vaeron agreed, touching his glass to hers. When he had taken a hearty sip, his dark amethyst eyes settled on her. "Your betrothal… Is it something you wanted?" He didn't want to say something treasonous. He could see that Alyra was fastly loyal to the Starks.

"I love him, Vae," she told him sternly. "I fear he would have wed me even if I didn't have Shrykos, which may have lost the support of many bannermen. He cares deeply for me."

"Good," Vaeron inspected her face and saw how serious she was. "I hope you'll allow me to give you away."

"Of course," she paused to scrutinize him. "And what of you? You keep changing the subject to me, but you're evading talking of yourself. Are there any ladies who had piqued your intrigue? You are the brother of a queen-to-be. Many lords will soon be offering their daughters to you."

Vaeron breathed a laugh at the thought. "No, I've been too focused on work."

"Perhaps I can find a pretty girl for you to marry then," Alyra jested.

"And which did you have in mind? For all your words, I'm unlanded and hold titles due to you."

"That can be arranged. Rest assured, I intend to make certain that our line continues in the north. My children may be Starks, but the Taennaris name will prevail. We are not known in Westeros, but we are of blood older than this land has been united. Building a holdfast shall just take time, but I've voiced my ideas," Alyra informed him.

_Leave it to her, _he thought admirably, wondering just what downfalls his sister had. It took him a moment to think of it, but he knew from how she poised herself. _She cares too much. She puts her heart into all she does._ A woman who was intelligent as herself was intimidating. Robb Stark might have loved her strength, but other men might consider Alyra to be overbearing, despite her purposely composed demeanor. War would be a time for Robb to prove himself and Alyra to compliment him. Men did not like being belittled by a woman, but they also did not favor the idea of being burned by her dragon.

"Make sure she's pretty," Vaeron joked as he relaxed into the plush seat in his sister's solar. He could get used to this.

* * *

R/N: **Topone: **Thank you so much! Yes, Jon is up at the Wall. I'm contemplating creating another series to divulge what is going on up there, but I'd have to flesh it out a bit more. Thus far, he'll remain canon aside from the differences in the outcomes with Robb.


	8. Alyra IV

CHAPTER EIGHT

* * *

_ALYRA _

If war had not been upon them, Alyra might have thought she were living in a dream. For years, she had thought Robb Stark was handsome and beyond her reach. When he asked her to go to White Harbor, she knew it was only due to her ability to translate. Never consider above your position, serve faithfully, protect your lord, do as requested. Idle fantasies were just that; idle and with no substance. Alyra could look at robb as adoringly as she wanted and it would do nothing to serve them. She just never realized that she might have a chance to be beside him in matrimony in public. Alyra suppressed her emotions, as she always did, collecting them carefully and spending them sparingly. Usually she impressed upon people that she was cool, collected, and courteous. Alyra was just terrified of letting her true thoughts spill out.

They said hard work paid off, but she never fathomed getting here. Riding alongside of Robb at the front of their army. She was blatantly aware that none of this could have happened if not for Shrykos. Even if her blood was older than the houses of Westeros, she had nothing to offer. Not until her dragon was borne, placing her at the zenith of social hierarchy. On top of that, she'd allowed herself to be compromised by sleeping with Robb. She had desperately wanted it, but her head had told her that it would cause problems, that he may not be able to promise himself, and she'd still have to be a steadfast servant. Even the offer of being bolstered to nobility by marrying into the manderly family had weighed heavily on her. She couldn't leave Winterfell, she felt as if she would be betraying the Starks if she did.

Now their wedding day approached and the men looked at her with respect. Alyra had earned it from being the Mistress of Coin, but now she was to command in tandem with Robb. He'd already expressed that he valued her input and wanted her to sit in council with his top vassals. House Manderly, Umber, and Karstark were hers, staunch and impressed... but she was leery of the Boltons tried to denounce her. Surely, Roose had said what everyone else was thinking, but he called out Robb before all of his lords without faltering.

Her mind slid to all of those that had their doubts, including Robb's mother, Catelyn. She had been horrorstruck when Robb and Alyra had entreated her in regards to their plans. Catelyn thought of Alyra as little more that dirt, that much was obvious from the way the woman looked at her. Perhaps she believed no one would be good enough for her eldest son, but Alyra felt stung by her rebuff. Had she not been loyal and true all her years in Winterfell? Why did she get the nagging feeling that Catelyn believed Alyra was using her son? Even the sight of Shrykos had not changed Catelyn's disposition to her. Alyra was not certain what Robb said behind closed doors to his mother, but it did not appease her mother-by-law-to-be. Alyra knew she would have to prove herself to be a wise choice, the best choice for Robb if she hoped to earn Catelyn's affections.

_It's nearly time, _she thought as Wylla Manderly continued to work at her hair. She was rather partial to the Manderly sisters, though Wylla tended to speak her mind more.

"You'll make a fair queen," Wylla said, taking the thin metal pieces from out of Alyra's hair to create long spiraling curls. "You've already done so much for our kingdom. No other woman could boast as much."

"Thank you Lady Wylla, but it's a matter of blood, it always has been. Some are not pleased by the arrangement," Alyra noted, suppressing a sigh that threatened to overcome her.

"And they're fools. The north will rise high on the back of Shrykos. The union between Dragon and Wolf will make the most formidable union Westeros has seen since Aegon the Conqueror," Wylla continued.

"Wylla, do not insult our allies," Wynafryd frowned, buttoning the back of Alyra's gown.

Wylla rolled her eyes at her older sister, but offered no rebuttal.

The door creaked open and Catelyn Stark slid in, adorned in a grey samite gown. Her rich auburn hair had a few streaks of silver despite only being in her thirties. Alyra had always thought that Catelyn was very beautiful, but after returning from her expedition she appeared haggard, withdrawn, and the lines on her face were deeper. Many restless nights had followed her after the news of Eddard's death and Alyra felt sympathetic for all that Catelyn had experienced. Now, she rode with them to support her eldest son, even though Alyra was perfectly capable of being the strong woman beside him. She still doubts me.

Yet, when Catelyn entered the suite while the Manderly granddaughters were preparing her for the fated day, she cracked a shaky smile. "Girls, would you mind..." she turned her Tully-blue eyes to Wylla and Wynafryd.

Wynafryd took Wylla by the arm, the green haired lady giving Catelyn a suspicious, if not outright contemptuous glare as she was led out. When the door clicked shut behind them, Catelyn stepped in front of her and her lip trembled, blinking back tears that had formed in her eyes. "Forgive me," Catelyn mumbled, Alyra reaching for a nearby piece of cloth to offer her. After dabbing her eyes, she drew a deep breath to steady herself. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye," Catelyn began.

_You mean, you've never been fond of me_, Alyra corrected silently.

"But Robb is my eldest son. Given everything that has happened in the past year, I've grown even more protective of my children. In my dreams, I imagined he might marry one of the Manderly girls or even a union with one of the large houses south of the neck... Maybe the Tyrells... I always wanted the absolute best for him and having him choose you was a bit of a shock for me. He loves you, that much has been obvious for a while and I've worried about him since I realized it. You hold no titles, whatever your family once possessed was scattered in the wind when they fled to Westeros, and you served the Starks as a handmaiden.

"Robb intended to marry you, even without the dragon and against my word. There were many other ladies who would have procured a much more suitable dowry, but... He wouldn't have been able to do it. I'm glad that the gods have made it so and I hope that you don't have any resentment toward me. I am simply a mother who was trying to look after her son, but it's difficult to come to terms with the fact that he's a man grown..." Catelyn let out a low sigh and took Alyra's hands in hers. "You look so radiant today. I remember by wedding night, in the Godswood... Wed in war. At least we have that much in common aside from loving Robb."

Alyra felt her cheeks burn. Catelyn might have been trying to seem sentimental, but she felt belittled in front of a woman who had little power. Still, her words cut deep into Alyra, who smiled kindly in spite of Catelyn's attempt at reforming what little of a relationship they had. Catelyn would be the only grandparent her children would have. Even if Catelyn had her doubts about Alyra, she hoped that she would not hold the same feelings toward her future grandchildren.

"Thank you for coming to speak to my about this. It... puts me a bit more at ease," Alyra told her, even though it was quite the opposite. "And I believe we have more in common than you think, my lady."

Catelyn chuckled, squeezing Alyra's hands lightly. "Oh, I don't know about that. I didn't have a dragon and you've certainly worked very hard to prove yourself to the north. And from now on... Catelyn or Cat is fine. We're to be family."

At those words Alyra's doubt began simmering away. Perhaps she had been wrong to think ill of Catelyn and her attitude. Was this how all Tullys were? Family, Duty, Honor... Family always came first and soon Alyra would be family. The smile that came this time was not forced. "Thank you... Catelyn."

"You have a beautiful smile, Alyra. I'll leave you to finish up, but I wanted to get this off my chest before the ceremony," Catelyn released her hands and headed for the door, pausing in the frame, a whimsical smile possessing her. "I'll try and put Robb at ease, he's getting quite worked up about tonight. That's why they need women like us to keep them tethered down."

Robb was getting worked up? She imagined him pacing his room, waiting anxiously for the down step of the ceremony and giggled. The way his brows seemed as if the Westeros weighed upon it, scowling slightly. Catelyn departed and the Manderly girls came back in.

"She didn't say anything uncouth did she?" Wylla asked immediately, knowing that the relationship between Alyra and Cat had been strained.

"No... She came here to make her peace with me," Alyra admitted.

"Well once you get married you're going to be queen, so that was a wise move," Wylla snorted, going back to finishing the details in Alyra's hair. "And bear her grandchildren."

"How many do you want?" Wynafryd leaned off of her sister's conversation.

"I don't know... Perhaps as many as the gods grace me with," Alyra sat back down, smoothing her fingers over the pale dress. "The Starks have five children," plus Jon, she added silently.

"That doesn't mean you have to have that many. Lady Catelyn was lucky to have so many children with no issues," Wylla reminded her duly.

"It's true," Wynafryd grudgingly agreed with Wylla.

"Come, look my lady," Wylla pulled her to her feet, guiding her over to the looking glass that reached down to the length of the floor.

Alyra's heart caught in her throat when she saw herself. The gown was ivory, drawing a straight line against her collar with a keyhole cut out that lanced down to reveal a slip of her skin above her breasts. Material was layered over and over to create a look of soft scales pleating on the fabric. Clinging against her slender waist and falling down, structured over her hips the dress grazed the ground. She had insisted there be no train and so the dress was just long enough to cover her feet. Sleeves clung to her arms and clasped to the shoulders was her maiden cloak, pale lavender and a different material, not the fine white wool the gown was made of, but a light and billowing chiffon.

Her hair was twirled away from her face before cascading in a tumbling waterfall down her back. Wylla's work to create lovely curls in her hair had been successful and Alyra thought the woman in the mirror was unlike herself. She was soft and innocent, shy and demure, her fair cheeks flushing as she stared imploringly.

Shrykos let out a screech and launched herself at Alyra. She nearly dropped the growing dragon, who had already doubled in size. Robb made certain that Shrykos was fed as much as she pleased and Alyra often went outside to let her fly around. From books she had read, dragons would grow the fastest in their first year and a half of life. If they were not caged, they would grow faster. Shrykos was so well behaved that she didn't think of keeping her on a leash of crate. Her bright blue eyes glinted intelligently, bending into nip Alyra's nose affectionately.

Just like Robb and Grey Wind, wherever Alyra went, Shrykos followed. Keeping the dragon away from her resulting in terrible, ear splitting crying that could wake a castle. In spite of these tantrums, Shrykos listened to Alyra's directions, seemingly understanding her words. Shrykos understood them better when she spoke in High Valyrian.

"You're going to be good today, aren't you? You can follow, but no interrupting. Follow Grey Wind around if need be," she muttered to Shrykos, kissing the grey dragon on her nose.

Shrykos cooed in agreement, drawing giggles from the Manderly girls.

A knock resounded on the door and Alyra's nerves mounted. She set Shrykos on the ground as Wynafryd answered the door.

Standing on the other side was her brother Vaeron. He wore a new Taennaris sigil on a lavender doublet, the silver tower and dragon emblazoned on his chest. A cloak of dark grey, for the Starks, fell from his shoulders and to the floor. Vaeron had always been handsome, but last she had seen him he had been a teenager. In the years of their separation Vaeron had filled out. Where Robb was stocky and broad, Vaeron was tall and lean. He overstepped many men at 6'4" and was finely muscled. His pale hair was always pulled back and tied in a tight knot at the back of his head, a typical northern fashion for longer hair with men. His angular face was sharply carven, more dramatic and chiseled than Alyra's face with a long, straight nose and smirking lips.

Vaeron turned heads when he walked and both Wylla and Wynafryd blushed as he smiled at them. "It's time," he said, extending his hand for Alyra.

In the time that Vaeron had known Robb, he had told her multiple times that the Young Wolf was a good man that he was willing to give her away to. That meant a lot to her, seeing he had been in the service of the Karstarks for many years. Being reunited with him had been euphoric. Even if he always compared himself to her accomplishments, she was thoroughly impressed that as a lowly soldier, he had earned the faith of his lords. Most men would have been released from service or balked, but Vaeron was tenacious.

Alyra took his hand and Shrykos trundled after her. "Ah the little devil is coming," Vaeron mused, glancing down at the dragon.

"She'll cry if I leave her," Alyra told him.

"I know, I heard her the last time," Vaeron smirked.

"_Every_one heard her the last time," Wylla reminded Vaeron.

"Well," Vaeron started stiffly. "We can always run if you have second thoughts."

Alyra gave her brother a dirty look. "We're in it too deep now, aren't we?"

"I promised I'd never wed you to a man you did not love. That's the one freedom we had a commoners."

"We're not commoners anymore brother. We never were, we just fooled ourselves into thinking such," she drew herself up and tried not to think about how nervous she was. Her dress was rather… dramatic and modest. Gowns with a lower neckline drew attention to her large chest and thus she had chosen to cover it entirely, letting the fabric cling to her hourglass form.

"Mother and father would be so proud of you," Vaeron sighed, glancing down lovingly at his sister.

"And you too," she hated when he was self deprecating. She'd heard the Karstark men talking about his prowess. His true alias was The Red Dragon. Those who remembered thought he was a taller Rhaegar Targaryen. No man dared to tempt her brother's blade out. He was swift, merciless, and savage. They said he moved as if he were the wind, strikes never touching him and all his blowing through his enemies. All Alyra had was her tongue and brain, Vaeron could easily kill someone like her. Her power was in words, Vaeron was in steel. _When Shrykos is large enough, I'll be able to take the field._

The Godswood was located at Wolf's Den, which was adjacent to New Castle. There were quite a few stairs and a bit of distance to get over, but eventually they stood outside the mouth of the small forest. Alyra glanced up at her brother and he arched a brow at her comically. "You sure?"

"Yes," Alyra's voice didn't sound certain, but she set her head forward and took a deep breath. _Still like water, smooth like stone. Now it's time, do not falter. _

Waiting within the Godswood were more people than she could have ever imagined attending her wedding. The lords of the north, their sons, some had even brought their families, and the Merman Court was all in attendance. Alyra held her head high and set her eyes toward the enormous heart tree that had grown so large that it encroached on the Wolf's Den, growing into the stone. Beneath it, Robb Stark stood with Grey Wind sitting calmly behind him.

He was so handsome, her heart swelling as she gazed at him. His dark auburn curls had been trimmed and his beard cleaned up. His brows did not weigh so heavily over his Tully-blue eyes for once. He was dressed in leather, as always, but it was black and polished. His heavy wolf cloak fluttered down from his back like a sable shadow. He stood there, waiting for her, his eyes fixated on her.

His gaze brought color to Alyra's cheeks, but she kept his eyes within hers. The man who had given her a chance, the one she never wanted to disappointed, the one she had fallen in love despite the fact she thought she could never have him. Now, in the sight of the Old Gods and the men of the north, they would be joined in union. Before she knew it, they had walked the length of the Godswood and she was standing in front of Robb and the Greatjon Umber who was to administer the ceremony.

"Tonight," the Greatjon began. "Lady Alyra Taennaris is escorted by her elder brother, Vaeron Taennaris," Vaeron bowed his head and stepped away. "Lady Alyra, do accepted King Robb Stark as your husband?"

Alyra took Robb's hands in hers. "I take this man," she agreed. She and Robb turned to the heart tree and knelt before it, bowing their heads respectfully as they crying face bore witness. For the moment of the silent prayer, Alyra hoped for the best outcome in the war, to return to Winterfell and have children together, to not have to submit beneath a Lannister bastard. Robb squeezed her hand and she lifted her head, glancing over at him.

Rising together, she stood as Robb circled round and unclipped the lavender maiden's cloak she was wearing. Rodrik Cassel handed him the bride's cloak which was a dark Stark grey of heavy wool. Before they'd even so much as turned, Robb scooped her up into his arms, Alyra's composure certainly slipping as she panicked slightly from the sudden movement. All around them the Godswood broke out into applause and cheering before Robb walked between his vassals and back toward New Castle where the feast would be held.

"A bit of a walk," Alyra whispered.

"Thank the gods you weigh less than my sword," Robb jested without glancing down at her.

"I had no idea swords were so heavy," she mused sarcastically.

Shrykos trilled loudly behind them, thumping wildly as she tried to keep up with Robb's long strides.

Both of them laughed. Robb carried her up to New Castle and into the hall that was the Merman's Court. This was the place they had first worked together, the beginning of it all. Now, they had been married there, beginning a union that would be written about. Dragons had not existed for more than a hundred years, let alone in the north. When they arrived at the small head table reserved for only the newly weds, Robb set her back on her feet.

Before she'd manage to smooth herself back out, Robb reached down and kissed her, cupping her face with his rough hands. He held her there long, stealing her breath away and also allowing for guests to enter behind them. The Greatjon bellowed loudly. "Can't wait till the end of the feast, can ye?" he boomed with a grin.

Alyra's face grew incredibly hot from his words and Robb released her, placing his arm around her as he leveled his gaze at Lord Umber.

Shrykos echoed the Greatjon, whipping her tail around like a moody cat.

"She gets it!" he pointed at the dragon and continued laughing.

Alyra and Robb took their seats at the head table. Grey Wind sat to Robb's left and Shrykos coiled up to Alyra's right. The tables filled below them swiftly and music started up on the corner. Lord Wyman had certainly pulled out all the stoppers, making certain that their wedding would be on par with that of the southrons. She didn't care much for exuberance, she never had, but she smiled, playing the part of the blushing bride. Robb's hand rest against her leg and he kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye, as if she wouldn't notice.

Rich food was set before them and Alyra picked delicately, finding her appetite was mostly spoiled by her nerves. So many people were watching, scrutinizing, she didn't feel comfortable eating while they stared.

"Don't mind them," Robb told her, sensing her disquiet.

"Mind them? I don't care," she muttered aloofly, taking a sip of the Arbor Gold they have been gifted from Wyman.

Robb cocked a knowing smile at her. "You're stiffer than a plank of wood… I think perhaps it's time."

"Time?" her voice cracked.

Robb turned his eyes out and he nodded at Wyman. Lord Manderly cleared his throat and rose, bumping the table in front of him, giving a jolly laugh as he spilled some wine. "If I could have your attention," Wyman's voice projected well in the hall. "To a beautiful and prosperous union between King Robb and Queen Alyra Stark!" he hefted his goblet to be resounded by the many people seated for the feast. "And what better time to crown them?"

Wylis and Wendel came round with small wooden boxes in their hands, the running direwolf hewn into the top of the box. Taking stance behind both she and Robb, they opened the boxes to reveal crowns. Robb's crown was a bronze circlet with runes etched into it, decorated with nine black iron spikes in the shape of longswords. The one destined for her was a winking white gold circlet that was thin and laced into a spectacular knot. The center curved into a widow's peak on which was brilliant fire opal glinted opulently.

In tandem, the Manderly brothers lifted the circlets and placed each upon their brows.

"Long live the king! Long live the queen!" the cry was taken up and chanted, echoing through the chamber as Robb and Alyra stood, crowned and married.

Holding each others hands, Alyra glanced over at Robb to beam at him.

The feast was coming to a close, swiftly followed up with gifts. Among the spoils for Robb were weapons such as morning stars, a dozen various swords, ornate knives, tunics and tabards that were too gilded for his taste, a new saddle, and chains of gold and silver. While the cache Alyra was given was smaller, they were just as expensive. For her there were ornate dresses of samite, foreign silk and lace, fine underclothes, lovely pearls and opals set into jewelry, and new riding boots. But her favorite gift was the pile of books in High Valryian about dragons. The final gifts were to be between husband and wife.

Vaeron brought forth the gift for Robb and Ser Rodrik brought forward hers.

"What are the chances we both get each other armor?" Robb chuckled as Vaeron delivered the chest plate, vambraces, spauders, and helm Alyra had commissioned. Knowing that Robb preferred function over appearance, she made certain that the armor was the finest castle forged steel. The Stark direwolf had been etched into the vambraces while endless knots were wrought into various parts of the chestplate and spauders. The helmet had been the pinnacle. Forged to be the snarling head of a wolf, it drew together the entire set. Robb admired the craftsmanship in his hands. "Perhaps I'll wear this tonight?" he turned the rabid face toward her.

Rodrick had brought over a chestplate for her as well. Etched into the steel were scales to reflect that of the dragon house she was descended of. Matching spauders and vambraces complemented the pale white steel. A helm with a heavy shaped opening for her face had wings that splayed off along the ears. While the armor was spectacular, her eyes fastened to the ironwood bow and quiver that came along with it.

"You remembered?" her fingers grazed the grey and lavender fletchings.

"I'd prefer my queen had some way to defend herself if need be," Robb conceded as he set his new helm on the table.

"I might need it in a short while," she smirked, referring to the bedding.

"I hope you're as quick on your feet as you are with your tongue," Robb quipped, frowning immediately afterward at his choice of words.

Alyra snorted, covering her mouth with her hand to keep herself from laughing obnoxiously. But before she knew it, both she and Robb were being pressed to their feet. Alyra found herself surrounded by many of the older lords' sons, many of the lords resigned to their seats, grinning into their cups of wine as the bedding fate awaited her. Robb on the other hand had several ladies, even those who were married, clinging to him in spite of his stoic face, an obvious sign of discomfort as they played with the leather lacings to his doublet.

She only managed one more glance at her husband before she was lifted off her feet for a second time that evening. Shrykos gave her a curious look and Alyra nodded, letting the dragon know it was ok as the men brought her high into the air, delighted to have the young queen in their grasp. They took off in a fury, her dragon squeaking behind them as they tore into the hallway, beginning to work at the fastenings at the back of her gown. She found that the men closest to her were Wendel Manderly and Domeric Bolton. Domeric had none of the uncouthness of his father and his hands were kind as he unbuttoned her sleeves.

"Your grace, make certain you grasp the Young Wolf nice and tight," the Greatjon Umber had also joined the bedding party to her chagrin. "A man likes a nice, firm grasp."

The bawdy jokes continued, the men trying to give her solid advice as her gown was discarded and left behind them. Her hair was pulled down into loose curls, her boots tossed aside. By the time they made it to the wedding chambers she was about to be robbed of her chemise. However, Wendel Manderly insisted that they tuck her into bed with the chemise remaining, as she was a queen and not to be stripped all the way down. She appreciated the man's kindness and Robb arrived shortly thereafter, however he was in much worse a state.

Where the men had told dirty jokes, they had been very gentle with her. The women on the other hand had ripped Robb apart. He had been forced down to his trousers, but they had been tugged haphazardly and his shoes were missing as well. His hair was a mess, half in his face and he looked as if he'd been standing outside in a terrible wind storm. By then, while waiting, Alyra had slid off her chemise and was hidden beneath the blankets.

The door slammed shut after the women had put Robb in bed, but the noise did not stop. Instead both men and women were shouting their encouragement, banging on the oaken door, giving suggestions of what positions to put Alyra in to conceive a child, and all manner of other nasty things. Alyra was unable to contain her grin as she beamed at Robb.

"You barely look touched," Robb frowned, reaching over to remove the circlet from her brow.

"The men were courteous and careful. Wendel made certain of that," Alyra trailed her fingers across his bare chest which was covered in a layer of auburn hair. "_You _on the other hand."

"They were worse than hounds," his words were drowned out by the shouting outside. He gave an embarrassed smile. "They won't leave until they hear what they want."

Alyra grabbed his face, pulling him close to her, her fingers tangling in his curls. She could taste the wine still lingering on his tongue. They had not laid with each other since that fateful night and she had longed to feel his hands on her skin again. Robb's hands were calloused and scratchy, the sensation of his palms on her skin summoning gooseflesh. She slid on top of him, her legs straddling his waist as she kissed him.

Robbs hands roamed her body, exploring the curves of her hips, trailing up past her waist, cupping her full breasts… She gasped when he squeezed, breaking away from his lips for a moment. Her lashes flickered and she caught the hungry look in his blue eyes. One hand remained on her breast and the other slid back down, thumb rubbing hard against her pelvis in a swirling motion. Alyra's breath quickened and she found herself growing distracted, unable to keep up with his mouth.

Robb's lips moved down her jaw and nipped at her neck. Alyra's lip trembled and she let out a low moan as he touched a spot on her neck that made her feel lightheaded. Noticing he'd touched a nerve he continued and in her distraction, Robb turned her over and got on top of her. His kisses burned a trail of fire down her throat and he moved his hand from her hip and grazed the outside of her sex. Alyra quivered, given little time to prepare herself as he pushed his fingers within her.

She grasped Robb's neck, groaning in delight as he worked at her, in and out, making certain that she was ready to receive him. Out of control, head reeling, she tried to catch Robb off guard, remembering the suggestions of the men on the way to the chambers. Her free hand moved down and she raked them along his muscular chest. She must have took him aback, because when she touched his manhood he flinched. Her hand hand grasped him firmly, gently running her grip along his length. Robb shuddered, his breath hot in her face as he pressed his brow to hers.

Alyra guided Robb in after toying with him for a bit, savoring his hardness. The tip teased her entrance and she let out a growl of frustration when he refused to sate her. Robb thrust within her and she screamed much louder than she had intended, certainly loud enough to be heard outside. Biting her arm, she managed a glare at him, but Robb was all mischievous smiles. Her brow was sweaty, he lifted her hips and began taking her. He had been gentle and careful their first time, but between the noise just outside their door and the amount of time he'd had to stay away from her, he took her passionately.

Breasts bobbing with the rhythm of striking, he lifted one of her legs and placed it on her shoulder. The angle caused for a deeper penetration and Alyra was unable to staunch the cries of delight and pain. Against her womanhood she could feel a building sensation, her breath hitching. Robb noticed her change, the way she clung to the sheets, her eyes scrunched shut, and the labored breathing. He pushed harder and deeper, Alyra releasing the arm she had been biting to shiver and cry out. She attempted to say his name, but he didn't relent. Not until he pushed her over the edge and she felt a great release echoed by her moan combined in tandem with Robb's.

Both of them continued to pant for a few moments after, Robb eventually slipping out of her and flopping on the bed beside her. Alyra was quivering with pleasure still, her limbs weak as she rolled over to place her head on Robb's shoulder. He bent down and kissed her brow.

"I love you," he muttered against her head, turning so that he was laying on his side facing her.

"I love you," Alyra told him, pressing her fingers to his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. He was hers and she was his. They were married and she had been filled with his seed. She wanted children, but wasn't certain if it wise to be pregnant while helping wage a war. Robb would always want her beside him and she didn't want to leave him without her guidance.

"My beautiful dragoness," he was mumbling now, lolling half-asleep.

"My handsome wolf. Sleep well my love," Alyra kissed his jaw before snuggling close to his breast.

* * *

R/N: **Topone & Lawsy89: **Thank you both so much!


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